


Mum's the Word

by DevinBourdain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:05:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinBourdain/pseuds/DevinBourdain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A midnight visitor turns Sam's world upside down with dreaded news that drags him back into the world of hunting. With his father MIA, Sam has to step up and save his brother or face the consequences of his actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If Your World Falls Apart, I'd Start a Riot

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Supernatural characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome, adored and appreciated

The thudding would have gone unnoticed mere hours before, when the storm was at its peak; no one was expecting visitors at such a late hour on a weekday night. Sam ambled to the door, his boisterous laugh undeterred as he was pulled away from Jessica to tend to what was probably an impromptu invitation to a last minute party from one of their friends.

Pulling open the door, Sam stopped short at the familiar yet unexpected face staring back at him- certainly not Brady looking to grab a beer, or Harley wanting to break in a new bar. Sam's brain came to a stuttering halt, his lips unable to form the smallest of greetings for the drenched man standing before him.

"Hey Sam."

"Bobby?" The shock was overly present in Sam's voice as he stuck his head further out the door to see who might have accompanied the old hunter. Finding Bobby alone, he asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Singer didn't even flinch at his reception. He had prepared for everything from a huge bear hug, to the door being slammed in his face. So far, his welcome was in the middle: he could work with that. He shrugged. "What? An old friend can't stop by for a beer?"

Not hearing the usual pleading that their friends engaged in when trying to pry Sam out of his self imposed studying week, Jessica called out, "Sam?"

Sam glanced back towards the living room. It was too late to pass this visit off as a mistake or a sales pitch to support some local sports team; besides, any friend of theirs would have already pushed their way inside. "Come in," he offered, practically pulling Bobby inside.

The old hunter traipsed into the apartment, taking in the meager surroundings as he did so. It wasn't far from the entrance to the living room, barely enough space to take off his muddy boots. The place wasn't going to grace the pages of any magazine, but considering the kid had to build his life from scratch after he parted ways with John, it was an impressive start. What the place lacked, Sam certainly had made up for with the company he kept.

"Bobby, this is my girlfriend Jessica. Jess, this is an old family friend, Bobby."

Bobby pulled off his battered trucker hat and wrung it in his hands. Hunting had never really put him in the presence of an actual sophisticated lady before; he tended to associate with the hard life types. He had to give the beauty credit though, as she didn't flinch at his rough exterior the way most suburbanites did. "Nice to meet you. I just got to borrow your boyfriend here to talk about some family stuff."

Shifting from foot to foot to try and dispel his frustration over his former life spilling into his home unannounced, Sam wrapped his arm protectively around Jess's waist. After everything that happened, he had vowed to keep that part of his life away from Jess and what he- what _they_ were trying to build. Even though Bobby was still firmly entrenched in the life, he believed that the man would respect his decision. "Whatever you got say Bobby, you can say it in front of her."

It was probably a cowardice act to use his girlfriend as a landmine for the old hunter to work around, but it was hard to say no to an old friend. Taking advantage of the golden rule to not involve civilians unless necessary, could sway Bobby from asking for help with whatever monster was giving him trouble.

The statement threw Bobby for a moment, unsure if the kid had suffered some sort of head trauma since going away to college. He thought 'family stuff' had been pretty obvious and yet perhaps he was being too subtle. He searched Sam's eyes to measure his resolve in the statement. Sighing, he tried again. "Okay. Your daddy ain't been around in a few days."

Sam grit his teeth. He had hoped his father had come to his senses after Sam had left; that was probably too much to ask for. The man had had a singular focus as long as Sam could remember and nothing that had happened over the years had seemed to sway it. "So he's working overtime on a miller time shift. I'm sure he'll get back to you eventually."

It wasn't uncommon for John to uproot everything in his gypsy patterns, but he always made an appearance sooner or later- no matter the impact on the people around him. Yeah, alcohol was a quick and easy way to forget about hardships for a while, but bars had to close sometimes. Hunting didn't pay for him to vanish off the face of the earth completely, and when he ran out of dough, he'd find his way back.

Bobby had to tuck his hands into his pockets to keep from shaking the young man before him. The boy was being stubbornly dense on purpose. "John went on a _hunting_ trip and he ain't been heard from in a couple of days."

Sam's features went slack as the implication finally hit home. No matter the feelings between him and John, his father had responsibilities that couldn't be left unattended to for him to disappear on a hunt. "Jess, excuse us." Sam grabbed his coat off the wall and escorted Bobby out of the apartment.

They made their way out into the hall, taking the back entrance outside. They were halfway down the metal stairs, well out of earshot of the happy life he had put on pause back in the apartment when he finally raised his voice. "What do you mean he went hunting? He can't take Dean out hunting; that's crazy!"

"I know that!" Bobby snapped, turning to glare at Sam. Thoughts about not shooting the messenger ran through his head. "You know that. And apparently your daddy knew that too."

Sam stopped at the bottom step, anger and frustration tearing him apart. He wasn't trying to pick a fight with Bobby, but the man he was really pissed at was apparently MIA and Bobby was the closest target. "What does that mean? Where's Dean?"

Singer wished he had better news and better circumstances to show up at Sam's door with, but the situation was the situation. He'd only come because of the boys. While he rarely wished harm on any humans he met, John always seemed to find trouble and, as far as Bobby was concerned, he could find his way out.

Reluctantly he whispered, "Montclair." Perhaps if he didn't say it loud enough, they could pretend the whole mess wasn't transpiring.

"Montclair?" repeated Sam, hoping he heard wrong. The word felt heavy and wrong in his mouth, like trying out a dirty word for the first time as a child. Bobby just nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. "But that's..."

"I know," snapped Bobby with the same disgust Sam felt.

Sam deflated, his anger for his father giving way to his worry for his brother. "We need to go get Dean. I can't leave him there," he vowed.

Filling out applications for various colleges two and a half years ago, he had convinced himself that something like this wouldn't happen. He would leave and despite John being pissed, the man would step up in his absence. Deep down though, he knew this was going to be a result, and now he was just as guilty as his father for what this was going to do to Dean.

Bobby rolled his eyes. Winchesters were the most stubborn, thick-headed people he had ever met. "Yeah, so you go get Dean and then what, you idjit?" He waved his hand to emphasise where they were. "How does Dean fit into all this without John?"

Sam bit his lip to avoid answering. He didn't want to concede the point to Bobby, but unfortunately, he was right. He hadn't built his life with his brother in mind and if the worst came to worst, he was terrified he would resent Dean for having to give up what he had achieved to accommodate his brother. Still... Dean was family, and after everything that he had sacrificed for him, Sam couldn't leave him high and dry. No matter their disagreements, he couldn't abandon his father either. He'd drag the man back to be a father kicking and screaming if he had to.

* * *

Jessica watched Sam's frantic packing silently from the door to their bedroom. Family had always been a touchy subject for Sam, shutting down completely when topics turned towards his father and becoming extremely melancholy despite singing his brother's praises. There was a stubbornness there, of things that couldn't be changed but couldn't be let go either. It wasn't hard to recognize that the decision to leave his past behind and throw open the doors to a new and exciting future hadn't come easy.

She glided through the room to rest her hand upon his shoulder. Sam paused briefly in his movements, leaning into the gentle touch. "Everything okay?" asked Jess, knowing it wasn't but unable to determine which avenue to venture down to get Sam to open up.

The late night caller had him rattled in a way she hadn't seen before.

Sam let out an even breath, steeling himself. He tried to never lie to Jess; conning was a part of his old life and with the exception of burying his first eighteen years along with John and Dean, he hadn't let that ingrained skill show itself in this life. He was protecting her, saving her from the darkness that had almost consumed him like everyone else in his family. "Yeah. I'm sure him and his buddies just went on a bender at the cabin and lost track of time. We'll just go out there and drag him back." He paused, gritting his teeth. "Dad just shouldn't leave..."

Jessica let her arm slip to his waist and wrap around Sam in a hug. "Leave your brother alone like that," she finished.

"Yeah." The smile didn't reach Sam's eyes. "Dean's my big brother, you know. He used to take care of me when we were little... _before_... I owe it to him. Dad may think he can do whatever he wants, but I can't let him not be a father, not when it comes to this." He cleared his throat. "Shouldn't be more than a couple of days." Silently hoping that was true, he zipped up the duffle.

"If there's anything I can do to help..."

"No, we're good." The bag swung easily over Sam's shoulder, the long absent weight of concealed weaponry pooling at the bottom, heavier than they used to be given the task laying before him. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he parted from Jessica.

"Call me with updates," she called out to her boyfriend's retreating back.


	2. If Night Falls in your Heart, I'd Light the Fire

Sam let his head rest against the cool glass of the passenger side window, his thoughts drifting away as the asphalt blurred past. The miles were flying by, but not fast enough; every minute that passed was a minute too long for Dean. He glanced at his watch- for what had to be the thousandth time- and caught Bobby gripping the steering wheel tighter to avoid saying anything. It was either that or asking 'if they were there yet' like a bored child, and Sam was trying not to let this exclusive adventure plunge him completely back into his upbringing.

Of all the irresponsible things John had done in his life, and Sam could list many, bailing on Dean had to be the worst. It angered him enough that his blood was simmering beneath his skin. He had fought with his father often, a doozy of arguments that had ended simply because Dean had sacrificially thrown himself between the two of them; this would be the worst one yet if he could get his hands on John. Dean needed family, especially when he had nothing else. Having Dad around calmed Dean, a feeling that was magnified even more when Sam was around as well. It was what made it hard for Sam to leave for school in the first place. In the end, it didn't stop him since a chance at a normal life was too much for him to pass up, even if it was under the worst circumstances.

He supposed that was something he and John had in common- right, wrong or otherwise: they did what they felt they had to. Sam had hoped his absence would remove the crutch of him being there for Dean, to finally force their father to give up his pointless crusade and stop dragging Dean around. Now it was looking as though John had dumped Dean the second he became too inconvenient, and Sam was finding it harder and harder to pretend that he hadn't done the same thing a few years before. Dean gave everything and only asked for his family in return, something that required nothing from John and Sam except their time. That seemed to be too much for them to handle lately.

Eager to break away from his thoughts, Sam decided to break the silence. "So what was Dad working on?" There was nothing in Sam's mind that would that would offer John absolution. The sting might be lessened, if he learned circumstance had been thrust upon his father rather than John reaching out a run of the mill hunt to satisfy his obsession.

"Not entirely sure," Bobby confessed. John was extremely tight lipped about everything, especially when it opened the door for other people to offer their two cents about what he should and shouldn't do. "After you left for school, John stopped talking to everybody. I didn't see him for three months, and even then, I was the only one that had heard anything." The Winchesters, as a rule, kept to themselves, but John usually had the decency to let people, particularly those that cared about the boys, know they were still alive.

"Was Dean with him then?" Sam sat up a little straighter in his seat, his stomach rolling uncomfortably. He prayed this hadn't been Dean's fate since he left for Stanford.

"He didn't come with John to the house, but yeah. John got himself a place up in Cedar Rapids; got a construction job and everything."

"A construction job? So he wasn't hunting anymore?" Sam tried to hide his disbelief. That was exactly what he wanted to happen when he left for college, except John had always fallen short of Sam's expectations. He couldn't imagine it being true this time; it was one of those things that he waited so long for, a part of him had given up on the chance of it ever occurring.

"If he was, he didn't run into anyone we know and wasn't straying very far to do it."

Bobby looked wistfully at the open road before them. "By the end of the first year, they'd stop by the yard 'bout once a month. Then 'bout four months ago, they stopped dropping by altogether."

Sam stiffened slightly, dread curling in his gut like a hissing snake.

Bobby continued, even though Sam had a feeling that the man knew how he was feeling. "A month after that, I got a call in the middle of the night. John was going on about "signs showin' up and it happenin' again." He was hard to make out. Idjit was at the high point of an all night bender."

Sam was familiar with the aftermath of John's quality time with Johnny Walker, despite his brother's attempts to clean up the mess and distract Sam for the day. All things considered, he understood the man was just trying to cope with the darkness that had coloured his life. For the most part, their dad had kept it together, only falling off the wagon after particularly bad hunts or November (in which at his worst, John was a functional alcoholic, thankfully not a fall down drunk). It could have been worse; it should have been better. "So what was he talking about?"

"Don't know. I gave him a couple days to sober up, thinkin' it was just November and all and he'd get it back together after a few days."

"And..." Sam paused, unsure he wanted to ask the question, let alone get an answer.

"And did he?" November was always hard for his dad and brother. Sam himself understood the importance of the day and the weight it carried, but his memories of that night were blessedly erased by time and youth. It was never a living, breathing memory that consumed him the way it did the rest of his family. The anniversary was usually hallmarked by John passed out on the couch after commiserating with his old friend Johnny Walker, and uncharacteristic silence from Dean.

Sam was never sure which hurt Dean more, the memories or John's abandonment on the day.

Bobby shook his head. His heart went out to the Winchesters and the crappy hands they kept getting dealt. He tried to offer support and comfort where and when he could; looking at the state of affairs now, it clearly hadn't been enough. "I called a couple a days later but he never picked up. After three more tries in the week, I took a drive out there. Place was a mess, no signs of anything unsavoury though; bunch of research I couldn't make heads or tails of. Asked around: John hadn't been to work that month and the neighbors hadn't seen either of them. So I put some feelers out, started canvassing the usual police reports, hospitals and what not. It was Pastor Jim, actually, that tracked Dean down. That's when I figured I better bring you in on this. Dean's got no one else."

The thought of John bailing on Dean was heart wrenching. All those years spent on the road chasing evil had left the family with few lasting attachments. There were only a couple of people Sam would consider close friends, there for the Winchesters in a pinch; certainly not the support system required for something like this. "So what do you think dad was hunting?"

"Very few supernatural things drive your daddy like this. I'd bet real money that he picked up the trail of that demon. John doesn't like to leave scores unsettled."

Sam snorted at the understatement. He could list a book full of people who would gladly toss them to the hounds if they had a chance due to his father's tendency to 'finish things.' "Yeah, 'cause revenge is going to help anyone at this point."

"Still, if John has tracked the thing down, ending this might be the best thing for everyone."

"We have to get Dean first," insisted the young man.

Bobby took his eyes off the road to stare at Sam. He knew the kid's loyalties lay first with Dean and then John, but the best thing for Dean was to find John. "Your daddy could be in real trouble there, Sam."

"Yeah, and he went looking for it," he snapped. "I can't leave Dean there."

"Can't bring Dean into to this," countered Bobby, turning his divided attention back to the open road.

Sam curled up against the door, letting his head fall back against the window. "Can't leave him out of it either."

It must have been the soft spot he had for the Winchester boys because right then, Bobby started formulating plans to reunite Sam and Dean. He wasn't fond of the idea of leaving Dean there either, but searching for John was going to be hard enough without the added complication of having to get Dean first. The abject misery on Sam's face was enough to sway Bobby to forget about any complications.

Singer silently cursed John for putting any of them in this position; the stubborn fool could be so short sighted sometimes. What had happened, happened, and although they all wished happier circumstances could have found the Winchester family, nothing was going to change the past. All John was doing now was harming the future.


	3. In the Dark, When you Sound the Alarm, We'll Find Each Other's Arms

By mid-afternoon on the second day, Bobby's old beater pulled up in front of its destination. The mighty building towered over the sprawling, rich green grounds, just as intimidating as Sam remembered. The gray bricks were cold and lifeless, producing a clinical feel that couldn't be overridden by the handcrafted touches that decorated the molding and windows painted across the front. The bars over the windows would lead most to believe it was a prison, and Sam supposed in all the ways that really mattered, it probably was one, anyways.

"You ready?" asked Bobby, peeling himself out of the driver's seat while adjusting his tie. Seeing Bobby in a suit was something akin to watching a dog walk on its hind legs. Not that Sam didn't think he could pull off the look; seeing the old hunter in something other than denim or plaid- and without a trucker hat- was a rare novelty itself.

"Yeah." It didn't sound convincing to his own ears. They could pull this plan off in their sleep; that wasn't the issue. Having to look Dean in the eyes… now _that_ was going to be the hard part. What was he even going to say? What was going to be greeting him when he walked in there?

Sensing Sam's apprehension, Bobby leaned against the roof of the car. He could play dumb long enough to give the kid a few more minutes to find his nerve. "So you sure this is going to work?"

"The legal stuff?" Sam finally smirked. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure about that. I've been forging dad's signature since before I could tie my shoes." He eyed the briefcase in Bobby's grasp, which was protecting the carefully drafted documents that would be the lynchpin in Singer's portrayal as the hot-shot lawyer facilitating a family's decision. As far as schemes went, this one was rather basic, they could walk into Montclair and walk out without anyone taking notice.

"Let's get this show on the road then," Bobby huffed, taking the lead as they climbed up the front steps.

Sam followed behind, just like he had years before.

* * *

"You want me to leave my son here?" snapped John, his voice relaying every bit of his anger and disbelief whilst somehow managing to keep himself seated. He'd heard a lot of things he hadn't wanted to hear in the last few weeks, but this took the cake. It was only the welfare of his son that had even compelled John to take this meeting; he never told himself he had to like anything the quack had to say.

"From what little you've told me about your... _profession_ , it sounds like you're on the road quite a bit." The smug doctor at least had the decency to look slightly intimidated by the rough and scruffy man glaring at him from across his desk.

"We can't all be doctors," John countered. If this man had even the slightest fathoming of what he really did, he wouldn't be so quick to belittle the Winchester's existence. The doctor's many framed degrees on the wall behind him wouldn't keep him safe from the evil John faced every day.

"Your son needs stability, routine. He won't have that if you uproot him every few months. The violent outbursts alone are going to cause problems."

"He needs family, and we can handle the outbursts." He'd be lying if he said there hadn't been the slightest bit of pride at the fact that it took seven people to hold his son down, their victory only coming when they decided to resort to chemical warfare. John had spent years teaching every single one of those moves and counters. He could stay on top of it if the kid pulled that crap on him.

"He could hurt someone, worse yet, he could hurt himself."

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen." John's gruff voice echoed off the walls in the small office. He knew what was best for his boys.

"Montclair has the best programs in place. We can see to all your son's needs and development. We _are_ what's best in this case, Mr. Winchester. We can monitor his medication and..."

Disgust contorted John's face. "You want to drug him until all he does is sit there and drool."

Not rising to meet the escalating anger before him, the doctor remained as cold and impassionate as ever. "In cases such as this, where they're prone to such violence, sedation can become necessary for the safety of all."

"That's not a life!"

"Your son's not going to have the life you imagined. This really is the best place for Dean."

John wanted to rage and tear everyone in the facility apart. He wanted to spend the rest of the month searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle. He wanted to puke his guts out every time he replayed the latest tragedy to befall his family. He wanted to do all that and so much more... but what he did do was stare at Sammy's back through the crack in the open door as he tried to block out the doctor's glowing review of all the things he could "provide" his son.

Sam could hear the heated words being exchanged in the small office, since his father insisted the door stay open so he could keep Sam in his sights but still away from the 'grown up talk.' He didn't care what they had to say; the only thing that held his attention was sitting on the other side of the glass window he was sitting in front of.

The image before Sam was all kinds of wrong. He'd never been separated from Dean in such a way before. The drab blue scrubs Dean was forced to wear were plain in all the ways Dean hated, making him as conformed as the institution he was sequestered away in. Sam watched transfixed as Dean drove a green toy car across his lap in circles, complete with various car noises and screeching wheels. It was the kind of game they played when Sam was still in diapers, not something worthy of his big brother now. Dean should be out working on the Impala, driving it for real despite being only fourteen, not playing with toys and imagination. His big brother had become his little brother under the worst circumstances.

* * *

Bobby and Sam paused by the nurse's station. The doctor glided through the corridor, lab coat billowing behind him as he made his way to greet his next appointment. The man was older now, but his face was one Sam was never going to forget. He smiled warmly, offering his hand in greeting before directing the pair to his office. Bobby started to follow, stopping when he realized Sam wasn't moving. The young man was transfixed by something on the other side of the observation window.

"You comin?" whispered Bobby. Sam shook his head; his presence wasn't required to hand the papers to the doctor. Bobby glanced at the window, understanding Sam's hesitance. He gave the young man a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaving him there to follow the doctor to his office.

Sam bit his lip and counted to ten. Finding his nerve, he smiled at the nurse while asking to be buzzed into the common room. There were patients seated at the various tables, engaged in activities to develop motor skills. Others sat on the couch in front of the TV and appeared to be watching it, although Sam knew it wasn't registering. He was only interested in one person, and his eyes locked onto him immediately.

Dean was in the corner with his back to the wall, driving the tiny black Chevy Impala toy car Sam had given to him years ago. Dean sitting and playing by himself wasn't surprising, but it still broke Sam's heart to see his brother isolating himself even more than he already was. He never looked up or gave any indication his isolation was being disrupted as Sam slowly and cautiously walked over.

Sam watched in silence for a few moments, taking in the simplicity that was his brother and his world. This is what hurt the most, to see the so very un-Dean like behaviour that was all his brother was capable of now. At least the violent outbursts that occurred when his brother's frustration exploded were at least animated in a way reminiscent of the old Dean. After the _accident_ , Dean was left with the inability to connect with the world in a meaningful way. The doctors said he no longer had the brain function to process stimulation properly, thus leaving him unable to interact with people or situations like normal people.

Dean was trapped inside his own head.

Sam could remember ever detail of his father sitting him down and explaining that the Dean they knew and loved was gone and never coming back, that what was left was essentially a closed off two year old. Gone were the late night conversations, roughhousing, days spent getting into mischief outside. Dean barely uttered more than a handful of words anymore, communicating needs through subtle gestures and groans that the Winchesters had deciphered through years of trial and error.

He kneeled down in front of Dean, placing himself at eye level but leaving enough space so that Dean wouldn't feel trapped. Gently, Sam greeted, "Hey Dean."

Dean gave no acknowledgement that he was even aware that Sam was near him. The sleek black car continued its circuit unhindered.

Sam let the silence hang. There was no forcing or pushing Dean, things happened on his terms now. Really, if he thought his brother was capable of deliberately giving Sam the silent treatment, it was well deserved.

"Dean?"

Dean was even more closed off than Sam remembered. The emotional upheaval from John dumping him back in this place had destroyed the marginal progress they had made. It probably didn't help that Sam hadn't seen his brother since leaving for Stanford, but it wasn't like John had extended any invitation to make an appearance if he chose school over the family.

The constant fight between him and John was hard on everyone, particularly Dean. He might not have been able to fully comprehend what was happening anymore, but the emotional turmoil between Sam and their father was always crackling in the atmosphere. The fighting wasn't good for Dean and caused the poor soul to have more meltdowns than usual.

Staying had also eaten Sam alive. With him there to take care of Dean, John took free license to continue doing things the way he always had: leave the boys at some motel while he went out hunting. Dean may not have been able to understand but on some level, Sam knew he could pick up on the danger John was in whenever he disappeared.

Sam had just needed a break, as harsh as it sounded. He loved his brother, but he needed to get out from under John's rule, make his own decisions, see what was out there for him. Dean needed Dad and he wasn't going to get that as long as Sam could be used as an excuse. Dean had sacrificed everything for them- for Sam- and Sam just needed a moment to himself, a chance to see exactly what normal was. Looking at Dean now, more withdrawn than ever before, Sam officially felt like the shittiest brother ever.

* * *

The door rattled on its hinges, but stayed closed against the force trying to smash it open. Dean pumped the shotgun and aimed it at the door. He stood boldly in front of the door, the last line of defence against the evil trying to invade their motel room. He spared a quick glance at Sam who was crouched behind the couch; he could do this, he'd been out hunting with Dad before.

The door flew open, a shower of splinters exploding outward. The man stepped over the threshold, immediately zeroing in on Sam. Dean took a step forward, griping the gun tight. "Get back!" he shouted. The enemy showed no sign of backing down, not even in the face of the loaded shotgun. Dean's finger coiled tightly around the trigger, flinching slightly at the sound.

The man at the door staggered back a step, looking down at the carnage that was now his chest. A wicked smile spread across his face as he took another step further into the motel room.

"Run, Sam!" exclaimed Dean, putting himself firmly between his brother and the intruder. He'd give Sam the time he needed to climb out the bathroom window and call Dad.

Sam scrambled to his feet, determined to fulfil his part of Dean's plan. Dean promised he'd be right behind him. He glanced back to make sure his brother was holding up his end of the bargain only to see Dean being flung into the dresser.

Dean hit hard, the gun clattering to the floor well out of reach. The momentary pause gave the man enough time to close the gap between him and Sam. Sam was just starting to pull himself up to the window when he felt a hand tighten painfully around his ankle, pulling him back. For something that looked entirely human, the man was incredibly strong. "Christo," hissed Sam.

Black eyes flashed back at him as the intruder manhandled him out of the bathroom. He pulled Sam tightly to his chest, an iron clad grip encircling the boy. All Sam could see was Dean splayed out on the floor, unconscious from the vicious hit he had taken.

* * *

Sam shifted his weight a little to get more comfortable, settling in for the long haul. With everything that had happened, he could give Dean all the patience he required. Dean continued to roll his car along the floor.

Deliberately keeping his voice calm and gentle he tried again. "Dean?"

The self made vroom of the engine was the only sound coming from his big brother.

Sam aimed for casual. "Look, I know it's been awhile, but I heard you might want some company until Dad gets back."

Dean let out a small huff that had nothing to do with his game and went on ignoring his observer. Sam didn't expect Dean to strike up a conversation but he wasn't ready for the backslide that he was witnessing now.

"That's a nice car you got there."

Dean's hand stilled for a moment before he continued pushing the car in circles.

"It's Dad's car right? The Impala?"

"Home," mumbled Dean.

Sam almost missed the quiet declaration, but hearing it brought a smile to his face.

"Yeah," he sighed. The car was the closest thing they ever had to a home. Some of Dean's fondest memories had happened in the confines of that car.

Dean let the toy car come to rest in front of Sam. He didn't lift his head but in a much surer voice he said, "Heya Sammy."


	4. I Will March Down an Empty Street like a Ship into the Storm

"Ready to go?" asked Bobby as he walked into the common room. Sam and Dean were sitting side by side on the floor in the corner, Dean playing with his toy Impala while his brother intently watched.

Sam glanced up, a smile still dancing on his face. The world just seemed a little more bearable when Dean was safely in reach. "We all set?"

Singer nodded. "Guardianship papers are on file. Custody is all yours, we can take Dean out of here anytime you want." It had been relatively simple, the most tedious part was listening to the doctor list all the reasons why Sam would be better off leaving Dean in their care even if he did have legal guardianship over his brother. Bobby had no doubt that based on what facts the doctor had, the medical staff believed Montclair was the best option, but the doctor didn't really know the Winchesters to know the truth.

"Okay." Taking Dean home with him was all Sam ever wanted, but actually putting it into practice, especially after all these years, was a whole other thing. Taking care of Dean had become Sam's whole world before he had left for Stanford. What if he'd forgotten important parts of Dean's routine? What if he made things worse? He did his best to remove those worries from his head as he spoke. "You wanna go pack up any stuff Dean might have and get his prescriptions, while I take him out to the car?"

Bobby gave Dean a goofy grin as the boy glanced at him through his eyelashes. "Sure thing," he said warmly. It was the same tone he reserved for small children and while Dean would have shuddered at the thought before, in his current condition, it seemed to put him at ease. He sauntered back out into the hallway, asking the nurse to direct him to Dean's room. However, he doubted the boy had very many things; the institution provided standard issue clothing and any toiletries required.

He felt a twinge of sadness at the state of the kid's room: all bare walls and basic furniture, facility controlled lights and door. He opened the top drawer to find a beat-up old backpack. It was empty except for the amulet he had let Sam have years ago, one that soon found its way around Dean's neck and never came off. The next drawer held a single pair of jeans and a plaid shirt that would never see the light of day as long as John's oldest stayed there. There was a pack of blunt crayons and a well-worn journal, the pages of which were half-filled with scribbles and stick figure drawings of what Bobby assumed to be the Winchester family, Mary included.

Bobby was almost out the door when the tattered edge of a paper tucked under a forgotten clipboard on the night stand caught his attention. Freeing it, he realized it wasn't a piece of paper, but an old photograph. A tear welled in his eye as he took in the smiling and hopeful faces of the young family: smiles that held all the hope in the world for the future; it was a disappointment that it all ended there. Carefully, he tucked the photo within the safety of the journal and headed out towards the car.

* * *

Sam watched Bobby leave to grab Dean's things. This was going to be the first test. Dean's slight acknowledgement was the first hurdle, but getting him to leave with Sam was going to be the bigger battle. The last thing they needed was for Dean to have a meltdown and give the doctors and nurses a hundred and one more reasons to try and keep Dean at Montclair. He silently prayed that Dean thought of him as the lesser of two evils.

Gently bumping his shoulder against Dean's, he asked, "What do you say we go for a car ride?"

Dean didn't look up and for a painful moment Sam thought he wouldn't be able to convince his brother.

"Home?" It was such a small, simple word, and yet managed to convey so much. The hope behind it was physical entity in the room.

It rested heavy within Sam. Dean hadn't had a home since he was four years old; the closest thing to fill that void had been the Impala and being around Dad. Sam knew where neither were. The most he could offer was himself and a promise to find John.

"Yeah, sure. Home."

* * *

Dean was sprawled out in the back seat of the car, so exhausted and worn out that he hadn't even stirred when they stopped for gas.

Sam poked at his split lip with his tongue, equally as stressed mentally and physically as his brother in the back. Dean had amicably followed Sam like a shadow out of Montclair... only to have a meltdown in the parking lot the second he laid eyes on Bobby's old beater. He refused to move an inch, growling and snarling at Sam as he tried to pull Dean along. A couple more wild swings from Dean resulted in him finally landing a solid punch before Sam managed to wrap his arms tightly around Dean, pinning his struggling brother's arms to his side. Never one to make things easy, Dean resorted to going limp, forcing Sam to deal with dead weight as he manhandled Dean into the backseat.

In fairness, Sam probably had it coming for ditching his brother years earlier. Dean wanted John, and Sam was just a poor substitute for that now. Dean latched on to what was familiar and constant and Sam had chosen to make himself neither. Rejection had never been handled well by Dean, but being so vulnerable now made abandonment even worse. His faith in John had clearly never wavered, so the disappointment Dean displayed at not seeing John waiting outside was palpable.

The look of betrayal Dean shot had his brother from the backseat was gut wrenching, like Sam had one job to do and clearly failed. "Dean, it's going to be alright," he soothed. The words were woefully inadequate; Sam had failed at making it okay every step of the way. His brother had just huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning as much as the seatbelt would allow to stare out the window.

When the driver's door screeched open, Bobby tossed the backpack over the seat into the empty seat in the back and climbed in behind the steering wheel. "Okay," he muttered uneasily, feeling the cold standoff taking place in the car before starting them on their journey. The emptiness remained until Dean gave into exhaustion.

As the trees and fields blurred by, Sam realized he found it hard to not want Dean to welcome him with open arms. Secretly, he wanted to walk into that institution and find the brother he knew before everything went to hell: the easy banter and mischievous grin, the big brother that looked out for him while simultaneously torturing him mercilessly with sibling antics. The first few days in the hospital after Dad had explained Dean's condition, Sam had woken up every morning hoping to walk into Dean's room and find he'd proved the doctors wrong, but it never happened. Even after all these years, a small piece of him wanted to wake up and find things as they should have been- before he messed up.

* * *

Sam's hands clenched into fists rhythmically as he watched his father hastily cram items into his "go bag." He was a broken record, they both were, and Sam was tired of it. Asking nicely hadn't gotten him anywhere, neither had pleading. The screaming and yelling at least held John's attention, but it was Dean who was suffering for it. Having to watch Dean huddle in a corner, rocking frantically while crying and moaning out incomprehensible random syllables, was too much to endure.

Seething rage and judgement was the only option left. Sam had to give him credit, John didn't slouch in his burning gaze. "There are better uses of your time."

The words cut through the silence. John paused to let out a frustrated sigh before pulling the zipper closed on his bag. He missed the days when he could leave Dean in charge and escape out the door with no more explanation than he was going on a hunt. If Sam had his way, John would spend more time answering questions about the hunt than actually killing the evil son of a bitch he was heading out to get.

Sam probably had a point; he should be more like those TV dads, with the correct words and a hug at the end of the day, a way to make everything alright. God he wished he could make everything alright; first with Mary and now with Dean. He couldn't just sit there every day, with Dean as a constant reminder of his failures as a father and a husband. He had to do something, and going out hunting the things that had done this to his family was something he could do. Shouldering his bag he stormed towards the door. " _Just_... look after your..."

"Your brother. I know!" snapped Sam. He'd heard it so many times before.

Stopping by the kitchen table on his way out the door, John put a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. His oldest didn't look up from pushing his macaroni noodles around his plate. Stripping his voice of all bite and bitterness he said. "Hey buddy. I have to go to work, but I'll be back in a couple of days. Okay? You gonna be good for Sam right? Do as he says, not give him any trouble?"

Most questions were rhetorical, Dean was rarely capable of answering with more than a nod or shake of the head, on days he was capable of comprehending what was going on around him. On the really good days, they might be lucky to get a few words out of the boy and even then, tone did most of the communicating. The good days were becoming more frequent in the last few years, but his eldest was still a far cry from the boy he used to be. Dean nodded.

Just as John's hand slipped off his shoulder, Dean dropped his fork and suddenly turned to wrap his arms tightly around his father. John stood frozen for a moment at the sudden show of affection before his hand found the top of Dean's head, ruffling his hair. As quickly as it happened, Dean turned back to his plate and his attempt to pretend to eat dinner.

A sad smile swept over John's face. His boy needed him, needed so much from him, and he just didn't have the skills, tools or weapons to even begin to be what Dean needed or deserved. He turned back to Sam. "I'll be back before the full moon."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I can handle Dean." The only response was the harsh bang of the front door as it slammed shut. Dean violently flinched as the noise tore through the small townhouse.

In a small high pitched whine, Dean cried, "Sammy?"

"I'm right here, Dean."

* * *

Getting Dean out of the car was remarkably easier than getting him in. The second they pulled into Bobby's long driveway, Dean had his face glued to the window, eyes sparkling as he took in all the junkers scattered around the yard. He was a kid in a candy store, just itching to get out and see all the wonders Singer had accumulated.

Sam had forgotten what it was like to do things at Dean speed. Slow, steady and calm were pretty much the only settings that worked with his brother. He stood there shifting Dean's backpack from hand to hand as he watched his brother move from car to car, lovingly running his hand along the hood of each of them. Bobby had long ago headed into the house, chuckling to himself.

"Come on, Dean," called Sam fondly, for the fifth time. "We have to get inside, get you un-packed and something to eat."

Dean nodded, looking longingly at a sleek blue car before trailing his brother up the front steps into Bobby's place. Sam pulled him along by the sleeve and settled him on the couch before rummaging through Dean's bag.

Bobby sauntered in from the kitchen. "Got a pizza being delivered and the guest room's all set up for ya."

"That'll be great, thanks," answered Sam absently.

Feeling the need to state the obvious to avoid the elephant in the room, Bobby casually said, "Full moon's in a few days. How do you want to handle that?"

Sam brushed it off: one thing at a time. "Got five days to figure something out, Bobby."

Finally finding what he was searching for, Sam triumphantly pulled out Dean's toy Impala and deposited it into his brother's eagerly awaiting outstretched hands. Quick to follow was the amulet which he slipped over Dean's head as his brother turned the car over in his hands.

Bobby was as surprised as much as he wasn't. "Figured you'd lose track of moon cycles, what with going away to school and all." The boys had been each other's whole worlds for such a long time, it wasn't surprising that something that seemed to dictate Dean's world wouldn't be ingrained in Sam, yet Sam had made the conscious decision to leave everything behind in pursuit of normal.

Sam knew there was no judgement behind the statement, but it still burned that anyone could think he could easily brush his brother off like that. "Never lost track of the important things."


	5. No Surrender, No Retreat, I will Tear Down Every Wall

John buried his hands in his hair as he slumped forward in his chair. His head was pounding from the hours spent going over all his notes and hastily done research he'd managed to squeeze in since their retreat from Montclair and its superiorly smug medical staff that was as woefully unprepared to deal with Dean as John was. The thing setting him on edge the most was the crystal clear growls and cries of betrayal from Dean that the locked bedroom door did nothing to muffle.

Sam hadn't been in the room when John had tied his brother to the bed, but catching every flinch and tightening of Sammy's shoulders at each scream was still a knife of accusation in John's gut. He tried to tell himself that it was for Dean's own good; his last violent episode had completely destroyed their hotel room, left John black and blue and Dean a bloody mess of abrasions. Sam had been so distraught, he hadn't spoken to either of them for three days.

With Dean safely locked away and Sam situated in front of the blaring TV, John had spread out his research to try and find anything to help, to find the answers to the Winchester's latest tragedy. He had everyone he could trust looking for solutions; he hadn't been too proud to beg for help with this. So far, he had nothing to show for it but extra miles on the Impala, two road weary boys, and the end of his rope.

John had exhausted himself trying to find the triggers that set Dean off. He'd mapped most of Dean's common meltdowns, but the really violent tantrums, the ones that led to complete destruction and injury, those seemed to happen without cause. He had always felt a little out of his depth when it came to the boys: his own father a poor example to follow and Mary the one that seemed to have everything figured out at the start of their family.

Lately, he felt like he was lost at sea during a hurricane. Through all the demons and Child Protective Service scares, he'd never truly doubted his decisions in regard to the boys until now. When evil destroyed their family, John had skills and combat experience to fall back on, but this- this was unfamiliar and scary. Dean had paid the price for John not being better prepared, and what if everything he was doing now was causing more harm to Dean? What if he couldn't find a way to fix this?

It was hard to see the forest for the trees and he needed to escape, get a breath of fresh air and listen to silence that wasn't filled with his boy's anguished screams as he writhed against the restraints pinning him to the bed. Grabbing his jacket, John checked the bedroom door again, making sure it was secure.

"Sam, just stay there on the couch and don't move. I'll be back in a couple of minutes," John barked.

Sam pried his eyes away from the TV (which hadn't been anything more than a poor attempt at distraction from Dean's current fit) and peered over the top of the couch.

"Where are you going?" It was a question born out of fear, since the last time he and Dean had been left alone hadn't worked out for Dean, but instead it came out as an accusation.

John bristled. Sammy always questioned him, but the last few months had worn John down to the core and he wasn't in the mood for any condemnation from a child. It was another war on another front that he didn't have the strength to fight anymore. "Down the block to the liquor store." His fists clenched at his son's eye roll before turning back to the TV. "Just stay here Sam," he snarled before letting the door slam closed behind him.

He pulled the collar of his worn leather jacket higher to ward off the bite of the cold night air; his breath painted a thin white fog as he exhaled. Leaving the front stoop of the tiny shack they were renting, he set a slow pace down the empty street towards the liquor store. It was barely nine o'clock, but the streets of the small town were empty. A full moon hung heavy in the sky, framed by an expanse of flickering stars. It was the kind of white picket fence place people dreamed of raising their families. _Probably don't even lock their doors,_ John thought bitterly.

The bell hanging above the door of the shop announced his entrance. Receiving no more than a half-hearted glance from the clerk at the counter, John meandered to the back coolers. He stared at the wall of beer before him, a blank slate of decision and desire to return home. He wanted nothing more than to hit the hard stuff, drink himself into oblivion until tomorrow brought a reset to their misery and they could fumble their way through their new unfamiliar territory again... this time maybe avoiding the landmines. There was no real escape from reality, and it was heartless to abandon Sam to face it alone. He wasn't blind to how Sam- how both his boys were suffering, but by God, he wished he was.

"You need help finding something?" called the clerk.

John gave his head a shake; he'd spaced out for a moment. Blindly reaching into the cooler he grabbed the first case of beer his hand touched and brought it to the counter. He threw his money down and left without saying a word. He got around the corner of the building, out of sight from anyone that might pass by, and leaned heavily against the cool brick wall. Slowly, the weight of the last few months pushed him down until he was sprawled on the ground, the wall the only thing keeping him upright. There was nothing but hard decisions before him; he didn't know if he'd have the strength to make them.

His head fell back against the wall, nothing but the clear night sky before him. Under the gaze of the vast expanse of stars and the moon, John felt very small, insignificant and ineffectual, the way he felt in life lately. He missed the way things used to be; he missed the little things that made Dean, Dean. Sam and Dean had always been different: Sam looking at him like he was waiting for bad news and Dean always looked at him like he hung the moon. The moon... the full moon...

The full moon that was tonight and the last time Dean went nuclear. John sprang to his feet, cursing the fact that he hadn't noticed sooner. He'd missed the pattern, and if there was a pattern, there were more avenues to check out. He might not have to ponder the difficult questions just yet.

The beer bottles remained abandoned under the stars.

* * *

Sam furrowed his eyebrows but kept his eyes closed, unwilling to wake up and face the day just yet. He stretched his legs out, shifting further into the pillow, half-listening for whatever disturbed his slumber. There was a faint rustling sound he couldn't quite place.

"Dean," mumbled Sam. There was no response from his brother, but the weird rustling sound continued.

Voice thickly laced with sleep, he tried again. "Dean, what are you doing?" He pried his eyes open, Bobby's guest room slowly coming into focus. The second bed was empty, sheets tossed aside in Dean's absence. Suddenly the source of the noise clicked and Sam shot up in bed. Frantically, he looked around the small room, searching for his brother.

Sam flew out of bed and rushed to the corner Dean had taken refuge in. "Oh no, Dean," he huffed, panicked. He yanked what was left of the book Dean had been studiously been ripping pages from, out of his brother's grip.

Dean's head shot up with a look of indignation, his hands reaching out for the book as torn pages fluttered down around him. "Dad!" He howled.

"He's not here, Dean," snapped Sam, instantly regretting his shortness. Anger and frustration weren't going to get him anywhere with his brother, and the momentary relief he felt when venting his building resentment for John and their situation wasn't worth the repercussions.

Dean scooted forward in a vain effort to again try and snatch the book back. "Dad!"

Trying to be gentler Sam replied, "No," raising the tattered remains further out of Dean's reach. "He went to work."

Dean huffed as though he could see through Sam's lie. Scrambling to his feet, he stormed out of the room and downstairs.

Sam stared at the doorway Dean had just fled through, wishing he had the ability to run away too. He let out a long sigh before taking a closer look at the book Dean had so thoughtfully redacted in his own special way. Bobby was going to be pissed; the formerly thick old book on demons was quite literally a shell. At least it wasn't Sam's homework this time.

Hoping to head Dean off before his destruction rained down on the rest of Bobby's home, Sam trailed down the stairs after him. The sizzle of bacon and aroma of fresh brewed coffee assaulted him at the kitchen entrance.

"Mornin'," greeted Bobby, flipping over the eggs in his frying pan.

Sam sheepishly held out the pilfered book. "Sorry," he offered with an apologetic shrug.

Bobby corralled his eggs onto two waiting plates, trading Sam the book remains for a piping hot plate of breakfast. He frowned at the book before shaking off his displeasure. There was no one to get mad at. Sam didn't do it and Dean didn't know better; besides, any material worth keeping, he'd made copies of.

Sam took a seat at the table beside Dean, who was distracted with a bowl of Fruit Loops and acted as though their morning hadn't started with the destruction of private property. After a few bites, Sam finally asked, "How do you want to start looking for Dad?" They needed a solid plan. He was under no delusions that getting Dean hadn't made the search more complicated.

"Figure the fastest way to track down your daddy is to try an' figure out exactly what lead he was chasin."

"You think he's trying to chase down the demon again?" Deep down, Sam knew the answer, but there was that foolish hope that something might have changed in John. There weren't any real justifiable reason for their dad to drop Dean, yet there were circumstances that would soften the blow. Catching wind of a hunt that popped up, no one else to rush in and save innocent lives except John- that would have been the best case scenario. To pack up and go after the demon again implied nothing more than John had no intention of coming back for Dean.

Bobby gave Sam a long, pointed look. "You know better than anyone how obsessed John can get. Do you think it could be anything else?"

"Assuming it is the demon, what's our best case scenario here? We find Dad, drag him back here kicking and screaming, but for what? Do this all again next year? In a couple of months? I mean, the man's made his priorities pretty clear and if you're not demonic, you don't really rank."

Dean picked up the fork that had been sitting beside his bowl and slammed it down on the table. Sam absently reached over and confiscated it, scolding, "Dean, just eat your breakfast."

"Now that's your daddy you're talking about there, Sam," countered the old hunter. "Whatever his reasons, you have to remember that. If not for you, then for Dean."

"Please, he won't stop this stupid chase until he's dead- that's assuming something else doesn't get him first- and Dean and I are just supposed to sit here and wait for it to happen because we don't seem to be enough of a reason to just walk away!" Unloaded Sam.

Bobby opened his mouth to offer some useless platitude, when he could clearly see Sam's point of view, but stopped as Dean kicked his chair back. Both sat frozen as Dean dragged his arm across the table, sending dishes and cutlery clattering to the floor. Neither had gathered their wits as Dean then stormed through the back door out into the yard.

Sam overcame his surprise first, scrambling after his brother. Sam followed Dean into one of the sheds at the back of the salvage yard, giving his brother enough distance so as to not further agitate him. Dean wasn't a fan of either demon talk or slamming John.

Dean stopped when he entered the shed, standing, just staring into the darkness. Sam came in behind him, hitting the light switch as he entered. The overhead lights flickered and buzzed before finally casting their light over the various car parts and wrecks spread through the shed. Dean stood like a statue.

Slowly, Sam let his hand settle on Dean's shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort in the wake of whatever was plaguing his brother. Dean dropped like a stone, crumbling to the ground to sit cross legged, rocking back and forth. "Home," he moaned like a mantra, "want to go home."

His heart felt heavy. The one thing Dean asked for, the one thing he only ever really asked for, was something Sam couldn't give him. He'd tried to be amicable with John and when that failed, he tried to force their dad to step up. But in the end, the happy family Dean desired seemed impossible. He brought himself down to Dean's level, preparing to wrap himself around his brother to prove that he wasn't alone, but Dean just shoved his arm away.

It was enough to throw Sam off balance, knocking him on his ass beside his distraught brother. The new angle changed his view of the shed, giving him a direct line of sight to a set of tires underneath a dusty tarp. Getting back to his feet Sam walked over and pulled the tarp back. "What the hell?"

"Home," answered Dean scrambling over to the Impala, all longing and love in his movements.

Dean was already pulling open the door and crawling in the back seat when Bobby finally found them.

"What's the Impala doing here?" asked Sam, his eyes never leaving the car or his brother inside.

Shrugging, Bobby readjusted his hat. "John dropped it off a couple of months after you left for school. Asked me to keep it in storage. Needed something he could haul stuff to work in, so he got himself a truck. Honestly, I don't I think he could stand the reminder," added Bobby grimly.

"Work? ' _Work_ work' or ..." questioned Sam, still unable to wrap his head around his father choosing and holding down a nine to five.

"That's why they were up in Cedar Rapids." After seeing the look in John's eyes when he handed over the keys to the car, Bobby had truly believed that John was going to put in the effort to try and live a normal life. Getting rid of the car was like finally saying goodbye to the vibrant Dean they had lost in this senseless tragedy; John's shadow had no use for their metal baby anymore.

"He kept a steady, honest to god job?" It still sounded too good to be true. Bobby had said John had been holding down a job but in light of recent events, Sam had just passed it off as a smoke screen while he planned his escape. Seeing the car here, made it seem like John had really meant to try and live a normal life with Dean.

"Not much choice in the matter. Couldn't leave your brother alone to go on a hunt."

Except that in the end he had. The relief Sam felt when hearing John had tried to step up in his absence was short lived. Dean had had a stable home for the first time since their mother died, and it made John's subsequent betrayal all the more cruel. "So what was so worth it that he had to get back in the game?"

Bobby shrugged; it was the million dollar question, one that he was dying to find the answer to just as much as Sam was. He'd been on the other side of the equation Sam was on; known what it was like to watch a wife die up close and personal. Had he been in John's position with two little boys in tow, he didn't know if he would have made the same choices. Either way, he didn't know he could forgive John this latest trespass against his oldest. "Don't know."

"So, where exactly were they living in Cedar Rapids?"


	6. Just to Keep you Warm

The engine of the Impala roared as it tore up the highway towards Cedar Rapids, stretching her legs by breaking all the speed limits. There was something thrilling about the open road; as long as Sam had a final destination to point the car towards, tomorrow would bring something new and he wouldn't lose years to watching the country speed by through the car windows. It wasn't just the quest for answers or the fact that he had left Bobby to traverse the dysfunctional waters with Dean back in Sioux Falls that caused his foot to press heavily against the gas- there was something about the old car that demanded to be driven. The backseat used to be filled with giggles as their father would try and top out the Impala along the lone, straight back roads to give the boys a cheap thrill. Now sitting in the driver's seat, he could feel what fascinated his father and brother before him about the car.

It didn't take long to find the hastily written address Bobby handed him once he hit town. He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. He hadn't been sure what he was expecting, certainly not a white picket fence and not the usual abandoned shack they had had a preference for squatting in. This house, granted in the rougher part of town and free from neighbors that would ask any questions, was normal.

Sam made his way up the creaking front steps. The house was in need of repair, nothing some nails and a new coat of paint couldn't cure, which were all things he could see his father tending to on a warm Saturday afternoon with Dean tinkering with some tool while trying to 'help' Dad work. He glanced around quickly, making sure there were no witnesses to his technical breaking and entering, before the lock clicked and the door softly creaked open.

He cautiously crossed the threshold. Bobby had been right, John wasn't going to win any housekeeping awards. The place certainly wasn't touched by the military precision they had had drilled into them as kids, but there was a familiar flow to the chaos. The furniture, while not horrible, was never going to convince anyone it had been new in any recent decade. At least the house was furnished, the kitchen stocked with actual cooking gadgets. They had actually settled there; little touches here, a Metallica poster there, a cupboard specifically dedicated to Dean's toys thoughtfully placed here. There was a couch, two recliners and a decent size TV, a coffee table, side tables- hell, they even had a kitchen table set up in the dining room area. John Winchester had made a home, one that he could actually entertain other people in. It was all very domestic and Sam felt a pang of sadness that he never got to experience that with his family.

They had had nicer places before but they never stayed long enough to make it theirs. Furniture stayed where they found it, never changing the layout of a place to suit their tastes or needs. A place of his own was always synonymous with "safe" to Sam. He felt safe in his apartment with Jessica; a piece of the world carved out just for them. It was weird: the last time he even began to feel like that in a place John had set them up had ended in the worst sort of misery.

* * *

Sam could feel the oppressive arm wrapped around his throat growing tighter as air became more of a fleeting thing. "Dean, wake up," he begged, needing his big brother to get up, to save the day like always. Watching the steady trickle of blood seeping from Dean's head as he lay crumpled on the floor, shotgun discarded, Sam knew he wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon. He was going to have to do something if they were going to survive this demon.

He was too small to physically overpower the monster with the death grip and the only weapon on his person was a knife strapped to his ankle, out of reach from the restraining force of the demon's arms. Despite his wriggling and struggling, nothing was loosening the tight grip around him.

"Time to teach daddy a lesson," snarled the demon, low and menacing. Sam could feel the hot breath of his captor dance along his ear.

It hit him like a lightning bolt, the means to fend off their attacker. Dean had teased him mercilessly about always having his nose in a book, especially at Bobby's place; the mountain of cars to dissect and rebuild and Sam always opted to poke at the expansive collection of dusty old books strewn around the cluttered house. The last book he opted to peruse had been an ancient relic, mostly written in Latin, but from the few passages he had managed to decipher, he had concluded it was a series of rituals and passages to exorcise demonic possession.

Sam started chanting, the words foreign and cumbersome on his tongue. It wasn't smooth; between the struggles from the demon holding him, his less than stellar pronunciations and a sketchy recollection of the material, he was surprised it was having any effect at all. The demon howled in rage, cursing and threatening; Sam continued as best he could all the same.

In one last ditch effort from the demon, he gripped Sam by the shoulders, spinning him around painfully so they were face to face. Its face contorted and warped in the presence of the boy's continued chanting. Sam shut his eyes to block out the horrors playing before him.

Something slammed into Sam hard, freeing him from the demon's grip and sending him crashing to the floor. His breath hitched at the force of the fall, cracking his eyes open to see Dean in front of the demon, placing himself between Sam and it, a weird black smoke enveloping Dean.

Quickly Sam resumed his chant, forcing the words to come out clear despite his desperate need to get them out quickly and destroy the demon before he could hurt Dean any more. The lights flickered and the ground shook until finally the motel room plunged into darkness and Sam uttered the final words.

When the lights finally flickered back on, the demon was sprawled on the floor and Dean was standing over it, hands clenched and his back to Sam.

"Dean," called Sam, feeling the impressive ache from his brother slamming into him. He slowly forced himself to a sitting position, heart pounding in his chest at his brother's lack of acknowledgment. "Dean... are you okay?" It was a tiny whisper in the vastness of evil that had spilled into their tiny motel room.

Dean slowly raised his head, the tension releasing from his shoulders. "This will work too." It was Dean's voice, but it wasn't. There was an edge of danger, of malice, that never tinged Dean's tongue before.

Sam frowned, trying to figure out what was wrong. When Dean finally turned around to face him, his heart stopped. What was staring back at him was not his brother, there were no familiar green eyes assessing Sam's condition, just empty blackness trying to swallow Sam's soul. Just as quickly as Sam's world started to crumbled, he was flung across the room, slamming hard and brutally into wall before dropping to the ratty carpet like a brick. The room tilted and swam, a tide of black crashing and turning over everything. The last thing he saw before he drowned in the oblivion was Dean walking out the front door.

* * *

"Sam."

"Come on kiddo, I need you to open your eyes."

"Sam."

"Sammy!"

The words floated around Sam's head, fluttering to find their meaning in the thick unrelenting darkness that was coating him. There was a gentle patting against his cheek, insistent yet soft. He tried to open his eyes but everything hurt.

"Sammy, come on."

The voice was growing more desperate. He knew that voice. That voice didn't beg for anything. Sam cracked his eyes open a slit, just to take the fear away from that voice. A small whimper escaped as the lights and sounds of the world launched a full assault against his throbbing head.

"Dad?"

"Oh thank god," breathed John, pulling Sam into a tight embrace. He thought he might never let go. He'd been so careful and prepared and still managed to walk into a trap on this hunt. Realizing his mistake, what the demon had planned, he drove like a bat out of hell back to the boys only to find their place in shambles, one son gone and the other a tangled mess on the floor.

John sat on the floor, cradling his son in his arms. Tears burned painfully before they rolled down his cheeks, dropping onto Sam's shirt. Without jostling his youngest too much, he blindly reached behind him, searching for the blanket that hung on the back of the couch. Wrapping his son up, John carried him out to the Impala, securing him safely in the back seat before rushing back into the motel room to quickly grab as many of their belongings as he could.

The car peeled out of the parking lot speeding off into the night. Every mile out of town, tore another piece of John's soul. He wanted to tear the world apart to go after Dean. He wanted to tend to Sam and keep him somewhere safe. He wanted his boys protected and he wanted revenge for Mary. John just wanted too many things that contradicted each other and now everyone was suffering for it.

Prioritise. That's what he needed to do now: work with what he had, solve the immediate problems. First he'd take care of Sam, then he's save Dean. And that demon that thought he could lay a hand on his boys? Well, it better start running because there would be nowhere it could hide from John.

* * *

Sam awoke to the distinctive sound of guns being loaded. Gone was the drab interior and gaudy wallpaper of the motel room, replaced with the clutter, dust and safety of Singer's home. He shifted to a sitting position on the couch, the blanket wrapped around him falling into a pool around his waist. Both men at the table stopped mid-motion when they noticed Sam was awake. There was an arsenal scattered across the table; John and Bobby were planning on going to war. Both men offered reassuring smiles, but the fear in their eyes was more powerful.

John put down the rifle he was loading and moved to sit beside his son on the couch. He wrapped his arm around the boy, pressing him close and providing a wall of warmth, strength and safety. "We're going to go get your brother back, Sammy," promised John.

Sam bit his lip, afraid to ask the question he'd needed an answer to for the last ten days: ten days of gut-wrenching worry magnified by watching dad resort to frantic and un-John like behaviour. "You found him?"

"Yeah. We know where he's going to be." It wasn't the greatest reassurance he could offer his distraught child, but he was too scared and too worn to keep up a brave front. The last ten days had been hell, that horrific scene at the motel room replaying in his head every night, and every day spent fruitlessly searching for his missing boy. He and Bobby had looked under every stone and just when John thought he might have tell Sam that they might not get Dean back, they finally caught a lead.

Sam looked back towards the table and the mountain of weapons the two men had been preparing. Ever since his incantation failed to protect himself and Dean from the demon, he'd had an awful feeling in his gut that things weren't going to work out well, and the image before him wasn't painting a picture of his father believing it was going to end well either.

"I need you to stay here while Bobby and I go after this thing," instructed John, his face buried in Sam's mop of hair, soaking up every bit of Sam he possibly could.

"Alone?" It was childish and weak, unlike how he had been trained, but he'd already proven what happened when left to his own devices.

"You'll be safe here. Salt all the doors and windows once we leave; don't open the door for anyone. Bobby has warding all over the house to keep everything out and if you have to, you go down into the basement and you lock yourself in the panic room. You just hang tight; Bobby and I are going to get Dean back."

* * *

Sam sat huddled in front of the TV; the late night talk show was of little interest, but he couldn't bear to turn it off. The silence was oppressing, a glaring reminder that he was alone. Moving every couple of months and being on the road so often, the Winchesters were always alone. John taking off to hunt left Sam and Dean alone even more. Being here without Dean, without knowing if his brother was going to be alright, if that monster had done anything to his big brother, was the most alone Sam ever felt.

He should go to bed. He hadn't got much sleep in the last three days, but his bed was upstairs and he needed to be close to the door when Dad finally escorted Dean safely into the house.

He thought he imagined the rumble of the Impala coming to rest next to the house. Ears straining, he listened for the telltale creak of the doors opening. He was on his feet, dashing to the front door when he heard the driver's door open. His footsteps faltered though in the absence of the passenger or backseat doors opening. His breath quickened as one lone, heavy set of footsteps made their way up the porch steps.

As the front door opened, revealing Bobby by himself, Sam knew Dean was lost.

* * *

Sam stood in awe before the fridge, a collection of drawings covering almost every square inch. They were crude, a small step above stick figures (and some depictions would have to be explained) but the image of a family was pretty clear: two larger figures, one with yellow hair, and two smaller ones. Family. Some had an angry black blob in them; it was probably too much to hope that the supernatural would at least leave their happiness alone in a picture. There were some pictures of what had to be the Impala and a few of what Sam assumed was their house in Lawrence, but they all had a member of the family in them.

He cleared his throat, clamping down on the sorrow that threatened to rise. This must have been what home was like before fire swept through their lives, stealing their mother and charring their futures: pictures on the fridge, toys on the floor and happiness lingering in the air.

There was nothing especially informative on the first floor, so Sam moved his search upstairs. The first room he came across was clearly Dean's. Posters of cars covered most of the walls while model cars sat triumphantly displayed on the dresser. Sam had to laugh at the remote control racetrack set up in the corner. Dean had talked about it ad nauseam when they were seven and three; the top of his Christmas and topic list. Dad even began to groan whenever Dean brought it up. When Christmas came and went and there was no racetrack under the tree, Dean had been quiet for days. It was probably the moment when Dean stopped believing in the magic of good things. When his birthday followed suit, Dean never mentioned the racetrack again. In fact, Sam couldn't remember Dean ever asking for anything that wasn't essential to survival much after that.

Sam felt like a creep, like he was spying in on his family's life. He had walked away before they had settled into a normal, easy, picture-drawing, racetrack-buying existence; he had forfeited his right to be there. Traipsing through the house felt like he was searching for ghosts. He feared the ghost he would come across would be the tentative happiness from the life they had formed here.

Knowing there would be nothing to indicate John's plan buried in Dean's room, Sam turned to search out his father's room when a crumpled piece of paper half hidden under bedding and the bed caught his eye. He kneeled down and pulled the paper free, un-crumpling it.

"Oh, Dean," he sighed. The image wasn't like the happy ones downstairs. Crude in its artistic ability, Sam recognized the childish depiction of an angry spirit scribbled furiously in black crayon. It was the same black image that had been in the pictures downstairs, but instead of being small and in the background, it was the focus of the page.

Sam pulled back the blanket giving him a clear view of underneath the bed. He almost lost his lunch. Hundreds of pictures all of the same thing, were stuffed out of sight. Sam began to pull them out, feeling the crushing weight of the horror Dean had been hiding. They were all of the same creature; the ones that really broke his heart were the ones of the giant demon towering over the small child huddling in the corner.

Sam did lose it then, rushing out of the room, crashing into the bathroom and hugging the toilet. The guilt had always been there, but he thought Dean hadn't been able to remember what happened, wasn't capable of remembering that night and what followed after. Clearly that had been wishful thinking on Sam's part. Once the heaving stopped, Sam slumped to the side, leaning against the bathtub. He looked at the picture clenched tightly in his hand; somehow the nightmare always reared its ugly head in their lives. Staring at the picture, searing its ugly image into his brain the way it so clear had Dean's, Sam noticed a familiar symbol drawn in the corner.

Going back and checking the other drawings, revealed its presence on several others, along with a few other ones. Sam knew he'd seen them before but couldn't place where or what they stood for. Dean had hidden them, so it was doubtful John had any idea; there was no way their father would have left the drawings if he'd known about them. Sam tore the symbols off a few pages and stuffed them in his pocket; perhaps Bobby might have a better idea what they meant, if they meant anything at all.

John's room was its own kind of horror show, just a bit more familiar than Dean's had been. The walls were lined with research, newspaper clippings and hastily scribbled notes. Sam glanced over the John Winchester style chaos, finding nothing but small time jobs and possible hauntings, nothing to do with the demon.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. If John had something big in the works, he wouldn't leave it out. He looked around the room for anything that seemed out of place, his eyes settling on the large dresser pressed against the opposite wall. Groves in the hardwood floor suggested the dresser had been pulled away from the wall rather repetitively.

Pulling the heavy piece of furniture away from the wall, Sam peered behind it. "You've been busy Dad."


	7. Just to bring you Home

Bobby's hand felt large, warm, and safe wrapped around Sam's. The ER was a flurry of activity: people coming and going like an ocean current led to Sam tightening his grip on the old hunter to keep from getting pulled away with them. Bobby cut through the chaos, straight and true, pulling a tentative and unsure Sam along behind him. Hospitals were bad; Dad avoided them whenever possible. The sheer fact that Bobby was bringing Sam to one, in the middle of the night no less, didn't paint a pretty picture as to Dean's fate.

The silence of the elevator was short lived, all too quickly bringing the weary duo to their floor. The hallways weren't as crowded but the sad reassuring smiles of the nurses travelling past them was worse than the frantic chaos of the ER. The world stopped though as they rounded a corner to find John sitting hunched over, face buried in his hands, on one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs.

John looked up as they approached, eyes wet and red from crying. Sam racked his brain to try and come up with a time he ever remembered his dad crying before. Whenever Sam asked about Mary or when their wedding anniversary came around, John would get a little misty-eyed, but never sobbed unrestrainedly like he was now. It was clear his father hadn't been holding back, that whatever had been the conclusion of their hunt had broken the marble exterior of John Winchester.

"Sammy," called John, relief and pain flowing freely.

That's all it took for something to snap in Sam, his own tears pouring down his face. That one word, one glimpse of the broken parent before him and he knew the world was ending. His hand slipped from Bobby's and he cleared the space between him and his father in ten quick steps. John wrapped his arms tightly around Sam, squeezing so tightly Sam didn't think he could breathe. Despite the discomfort, he didn't want his dad to let go. Listening to John's steady heartbeat, he could pretend that all was right with the world. Dad was the warrior that kept the bad things at bay and as long as his steady, firm grip held Sam tight, there could be no bad news. Nothing was supposed to touch them.

Tentatively Sam asked, words muffled by John's shoulder, "Where's Dean?" He could feel his dad suck in a shuddering breath before loosening his death grip on Sam. There was always a chance; John's sadness could be a realization of just how close they came to devastation. They were all tired and worn out, it might be exhaustion getting the better of both of them, a misreading of the situation. They'd lost so much already, surely the god Pastor Jim spoke so highly of wouldn't see fit to take more from them.

He looked Sam in the eye, unmasked sorrow plain for all to see. If he thought the most difficult thing to do would be to tell a terrified four year old his mom was gone, he was wrong. There were no words that were going to soften the blow, nothing he could come up with that would make the circumstances easier for either one of them to swallow. John had had a plan. It was simple: hunt down the thing that killed Mary and keep the boys safe- they would be safe because he hunted down his wife's murderer. Now his sweet little boy was essentially gone and there was no protecting either of his children from that. The repercussions of this night would follow them through all of their days.

Despite the pain in his throat and the pressure in his chest, John choked out, "He's not doing so good, Sammy. There was a problem and Dean... He's alive but they don't ... he's not going to be the Dean you remember, Sammy."

* * *

The sun was shining, warm but not oppressively hot- a nice day to get out of the confines of the house. While Dean didn't have the ability to be Bobby's right hand mechanic anymore, the boy seemed to enjoy pretending to help with the cars. Bobby assumed in his mind Dean was helping. He finished screwing a cap back in place before cleaning the grease off his hands and pulling his head out from under the hood of the car he was tinkering with. It seemed a shame to spend such a nice day cooped up in the house and though Dean didn't say it, Bobby could sense he was a little wound up.

The meltdown from Sam leaving had been minimal, consisting mostly of pouting and making a mess of breakfast. That was mostly Bobby's poor choice to serve oatmeal. He couldn't blame Dean; while Bobby had known Sam was going to head out to Cedar Rapids in the morning, he had effectively snuck out on Dean by way of leaving before Dean woke up. Except the kid _had_ woken up when the door closed and made it out to the porch to see taillights kissing the highway.

Tinkering in the yard seemed to relax the boy, so going out and mucking about it was. It was more Bobby fixing things and Dean hovering; on the real good days, Dean might even be able to hand Bobby the right tool when asked. The boy seemed to enjoy the familiarity of the activity. It had also been a good way to try and get Dean to interact with the world when John came over and shut himself away with Singer's books. Working on a wreck with Dean, Bobby could at least pretend he didn't know John wasn't looking for supernatural trouble and could avoid the inevitable fight that would follow if either acknowledged otherwise.

Bobby glanced up as the Impala pulled into the yard, gravel crushing under its tires and sending a fine mist of dust over everything. Dean didn't move from his position either, sitting on the ground and leaning against the front tire, spinning the socket wrench in his hand. He happily accompanied Bobby when Sam had left him standing on the porch, speeding away to parts unknown in the car Dean loved, without him. Normally he would wander over to greet the Impala's arrival, checking to make sure she was unharmed, but he had been left behind again and wasn't going to reward either the car or his brother with welcome.

Anger had driven the Impala back to Bobby's place- Sam was just a co-pilot. He'd lost all rational over what he was angry about; the list was long and every point contradicted another. John had tracked down the demon; threw away everything he built for Dean to do it, but he found it. He knew exactly where the Demon was going to be in four days time and was gearing up to face it. Get revenge, which Sam wanted too, and yet the cost was probably going to be too high. Look what happened last time John had gone after it! John hadn't even thought to include Sam on this hunt, like he wouldn't want to inflict pain in the name of justice on Dean's behalf.

This monster had taken from Sam, it'd taken his big brother from him. It had deprived Dean of his life and the world of Dean. He'd dreamed of tearing it apart almost every night and now that Dad had located it, Sam wanted back in the fight. He wanted to hunt just one more time.

Sam slammed the car door shut and stormed into the house, hands struggling to keep a grip on the stack of papers he'd brought back with him. He said nothing to his brother or Bobby on his way, still too wounded from his trip to pretend that anything was alright.

Bobby closed the hood of the car far more gently than Sam had been with the front door. "Well that doesn't look good," offered Bobby.

Dean tilted his head back until he was looking up at Bobby. There was a silent agreement between the two of them. He accepted Bobby's outstretched hand pulling himself up.

"Guess we should go see what your Daddy's done this time."

Carefully putting the socket wrench into the toolbox, Dean traipsed after the old hunter like a faithful dog. Ignoring Sam's conquest of the kitchen table, he automatically went to the living room to grab the scrapbook and box of crayons Bobby had brought out for him.

Bobby glanced over the white blanket of papers and maps that had fallen over the kitchen like snow. Whatever it was, John had put sweat, blood and tears into it.

"We have three days to get to New Harmony, Indiana," stated Sam, looking up from the map he had spread in his lap.

"What's in New Harmony?"

"The demon will be. Dad tracked it down somehow. According to his research the demon goes on killing sprees every few years. He traced it back to pseudonym used in the seventeen hundreds in England. The alleged family owned several asylums through the decades and in the eighteen hundreds came to America where they ran several predominate asylums for the mentally insane."

"That sounds like a great combination; demons and crazy people."

"This particular demon likes to drive its victims insane before engaging in a ritualistic sacrifice on the full moon. It apparently feeds off their fear and distress."

Bobby glanced at the calendar. "Balls."

"Exactly. The last sacrifice this thing performed was when he took Dean. To make things worse, Dean's the only one to ever walk away."

Both men shifted to catch a glimpse of Dean quietly scribbling away in his scrapbook, completely unaware he had become the focal point of conversation. "You think this demon's gonna go after Dean as payback?" asked Bobby, the sinking feeling in his gut already giving him the answer.

"When has the Winchester luck ever suggested anything else? It came after us to get back at Dad once, but then Dad sent it back to hell before it could complete the entire ritual last time. Seems like Dean would be the logical place to start this time."

"So how you want to play this?" Bobby could feel his trigger finger itching.

Sam's jaw tightened with determination. "We meet Dad in New Harmony, see this thing through to the end."

"What are we going to do with Dean?"

"Take him with us. If this demon's going to come after him, he's safer with us than anywhere else." Nothing was going to hurt Dean again. Sam would make sure of it.

* * *

"Dean," called Sam, ascending the staircase. "Come on, man, time to go to bed." The Impala was loaded and ready to go, Sam and Bobby having spent the last useable hours of daylight packing anything and everything they might need. Sam had to clamp down on the urge to leave tonight, to tear through the night chasing daylight to New Harmony, but sleep deprivation wasn't going to put neither he nor Bobby in fighting form. Not to mention, Dean was already getting antsy, hiding the second the gun collection came out.

Sam had been dismayed to discover that late afternoon had turned to evening and suddenly two in the morning without him noticing. Dinner and a reasonable bedtime had been missed by great lengths and while he could survive without both, Dean hadn't said anything in regards to either... not that Dean really could say anything, and wasn't that always the way? He'd have to admit that he came by his stubbornness honestly, the one undeniable trait he shared with his dad. Both seemed to get obsessed and Dean fell by the wayside; just another point in his favor for brother of the year.

"Come on, Dean, we have to get up early tomorrow." Sam tried not to be frustrated; lack of sleep made his brother less cooperative, and that was on him tonight. To add insult to injury, Sam's singular focus had caused him to what amounted to ignoring his brother since he came back from Cedar Rapids, which he technically ditched Dean to go in the first place.

Sam poked his head in the bathroom. It was Dean-less just like downstairs had been. He wasn't in Bobby's room, the older hunter having already turned in for the night when Sam started trying to coax his brother out of wherever he was hiding. The smirk Bobby had given him as he said "good night" meant he wasn't going to help shake Dean out, not because he didn't care but that he took perverse pleasure in knowing Sam was reaping his reward for being so thoughtless.

He paused just before the guest bedroom, the vibration in his pocket reminding him that he'd left his phone on silent. He pulled it out, accessing his messages and pressing it to his ear.

"Sam, it's Jess. Just calling to make sure you're alright and to remind you I love you. If there's anything I can do to help, call and let me know. Maybe quit calling when you know you're going to get my voicemail? Love you." _Click._

He'd tried so hard to get away from all the crap John had brought into their lives, yet here he was, right back in the middle of it. What was he going to tell Jess? That was easy, despite the fact that he told himself he was through lying: he'd lie about what was about to happen and bury it deep with the other monsters under the bed, pretending it never happened. If something went wrong... well then, he wouldn't be around to see the look of horror on Jessica's face when she was told how he died.

A smart person would walk away, avoid the danger. It's what he had told John and Dean back in the day. But this was about Dean and, selfishly, this was about trying to do something to lessen his guilt about not being able to save his brother in the first place.

Putting his phone back in his pocket, he stepped into the guest bedroom, which through the years apart from staying with Pastor Jim, was the closest thing he had to a childhood room. At first glance it was empty too, but while Dean might have the understanding of a child, his six foot stature was hard to hide underneath the twin bed.

Sam got down on his hands and knees, peeking under the bed. Dean was awake, scrapbook gripped tightly in one hand, the other furiously scribbling with the sad remains of what had started the day as a new black crayon. Softly, Sam spoke.

"Whatcha doing there, Dean?" His brother didn't so much as turn his head. Sam mentally prepared himself for the oncoming struggle. "It's late man; you have to be tired."

"Home! Want to go home," moaned Dean.

Sam squirmed himself closer to Dean, there wasn't much space under the bed, but he managed to get the himself half-tucked under with Dean. "I know you do, and I'm trying, man. I'm trying really hard to get you back there." For a moment, lying there side by side, hidden away from the world it was like they were kids again: tucked under a blanket, cuddled against each other with Dean's promise that it would keep the bad things away.

Sam gently put his hand on top of Dean's, stopping his coloring. Dean didn't fight it, instead just letting Sam take the scrapbook away. "Come on, Dean, it's bed time," he whispered.

Dean wiggled out from under the bed, quickly climbing on top while Sam floundered less gracefully to extract himself from the hiding space. Dean was already under the covers by the time Sam got to his feet; it wasn't worth the effort to try and convince his brother to change out of his clothes.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp provided just enough light that Sam could see what Dean had been drawing. "Oh Dean." His heart broke at the monster staring back at him, a monster that he was planning on facing again after all these years, one that Dean apparently faced every day.

Sam's breath hitched as he shifted his glance from the paper to his brother. Dean, who was staring back so intently, it was like he could see the very depths of Sam's soul and could pass judgement on all his failures and successes. For a moment, Sam thought he was staring into the eyes of Dean before the incident.

Clearly and precise, in a voice from the past, Dean said, "He's coming."

Sam's brain stuttered to halt. He couldn't process anything as his heart clenched tight in his chest. Time started again as Dean's fist solidly connect with the side of Sam's head. Unprepared for the well placed punch, Sam toppled to the ground. Before he could mount a defence, Dean was standing over him, confident and sure, the way he'd imagined Dean would have turned out if not for the damage he'd sustained.

Dean got in a vicious kick to his brother's ribs before reaching down and grabbing Sam's collar. He pulled him up to eye level, issuing another forceful punch, and another, and another.

Sam's eyes were starting to roll in his head as the beating continued. The room was tilting, becoming red as blood started to trickle into his eyes. Feebly, he raised his hands, one falling over the fist wrapped in his collar to try and loosen Dean's grip.

Dean didn't let up. Leaning over so his face was mere inches from Sam's, he snarled,

"Like what you did, Sammy?" He laid out one more vicious hit to Sam's midsection, letting go as he connected.

Sam dropped to the floor with a thud, breath coming out in ragged gasps. Blood filled his mouth, choking him but he couldn't do more then turn his aching head slightly to the side. Dean sneered at him, wiping the blood off his knuckles on his pant leg before walking to the door.

"Dean, wait," Sam brokenly pled.

He stopped at the threshold of the room. Without turning back, he stated, "It's not Dean's turn to be in control anymore," before walking out of the bedroom, then the house, leaving Sam to succumb to unconsciousness.


	8. I will Burn this City Down for a Diamond in the Dust

John cleaned and checked his weapons again, laying them out neatly on the motel bed. They were ready to go, had been for days. He had to be ready, couldn't mess this up. This was most likely the only chance he'd get. The repetitive maintenance everyday helped pass the time, giving his hands something to do and his mind something to focus on beside the minutes ticking away too slowly on the cheap motel alarm clock.

He'd checked the abandoned hospital out a few times now, committing every hallway down to every crack in the tiles to memory like he had with every bolt of the Impala. Nothing was left to chance. The demon would go in, maybe they both wouldn't walk out; it was certain though that the demon wasn't walking away from this one. It had hurt Dean, hurt his boy; it damn well wasn't going to get the chance to that to anyone else.

It was quiet, being alone. John missed the pattern that had become his and Dean's life. Breakfast, dropping Dean off at the community center while he endured an honest day's work before picking Dean up to go home and attempt to make what they had seen on the Cooking Channel the night before for dinner. It almost never turned out right; the most John had learned was how to decrease his level of burned results. After dinner came some mind numbing TV or tinkering out in the carport before bedtime rituals and a good night story. It was all so normal, so domestic, so before Mary died.

It damn near killed him to drop Dean off at Montclair; John would gladly die a thousand times before having to see the look of betrayal and devastation in Dean's eyes as he pulled away without him. His only comfort, that should John not walk away from this, Bobby would figure it out. He didn't just bring his boy out to Singer's place because it was good for Dean, he did it to endear the boy to the old hunter. John wasn't too proud to weave a web of heartstrings to make sure his kid was looked after. If John didn't make it, Bobby would step up, raise the kid, probably better than John could ever hope to. Maybe Singer would reach out to Sam and with John gone, Sammy might see fit to re-forge his relationship with Dean. This was what was best for Dean.

As John sat there in the dim light of the dingy motel room, he spun his wedding ring around his finger with his thumb, thinking about Mary. God, he'd screwed things up so bad. He'd driven Sam away; failed to find vengeance for his wife. Having to sit in some hospital hallway while some doctor impassionedly talked about significant brain damage and doubts that Dean would even be able to feed himself like he was some inconvenient pet... now that was hell, pure unadulterated hell on Earth. He didn't think it could get any worse until he saw his little boy standing in the middle of that warehouse, drenched in blood that wasn't his own, nothing but evil staring back at John when he'd finally caught up with the monster that had taken his son.

* * *

Dean frantically lifted the pieces of plywood that had been scattered across the floor of the warehouse. Each piece that was hurled violently away revealed another line of the symbol on the floor. He paced the confines of the Devil's Trap, seething with an anger that would surely level the building if it could transcend the bonds of the symbol.

John stood just out of arm's reach at the very edge of the circle. That was his boy, his baby boy, standing there covered in blood from victims taken by his own hand yet not under his willpower. He wanted to rip the son of a bitch apart and inflict the agony he'd felt every second Dean was gone from him and Sam, but he knew the only one he'd be hurting was his boy.

"You should have minded your own business John Winchester. Rode off into the sunset after your pretty wife burned and enjoyed the time you had left with boys, but you had to go and stick your nose where it didn't belong."

John shut his eyes tightly. A smile that evil should never play on a child, let alone Dean. If he could block out the image, maybe he could pretend the voice belonged to someone else- anyone else. He could hear the echo of Bobby's footsteps as he stepped into view and pump his shotgun. John opened his eyes; even if Dean wasn't in control, he couldn't leave him alone in this by blocking out what was happening. He glared at the thing that had taken his son from him, showing none of the fear that threatened to bring him to his knees.

"You know, I wanted Sammy. But he had to go and complicate things," sang Dean.

John clenched his hands so tight, bones threatened to crack under the pressure. Everything the demon said sounded like filth coming from his boy's mouth.

"Dean... he was just the next best thing. Ain't that right, Johnny? Second place trophy right here."

John let his anger turn into resolve. He was going to get Dean back, no matter what it took. He could piece Dean back together after, at least he would have his son. With venom, he began to recite the exorcism Pastor Jim had taught him. He started slow watching the demon shudder and twitch, trapped in the confines of the Devil's Trap.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You're not going to like how it turns out," warned the demon in Dean's youthfully innocent voice.

The words spilled past John's lips faster, never breaking despite the cries of pain coming from Dean. Dean's face contorted in anguish and hate as a blue light began to emanate around him. It grew brighter and brighter until it spilled out like a tidal wave, washing through the warehouse. Dean dropped like a puppet with his strings cut while Bobby and John were knocked down by the force of the light. When the light finally dissipated, leaving the warehouse in the gloom ambiance of dusk, John scrambled on his hands and knees to his fallen son.

He scooped him up in his arms, holding him tight, the way he did when Dean would crawl into his and Mary's bed after a nightmare. Dean felt like a lifeless doll, all loose limbs and no sign of life. "Dean, come on, buddy; it's over," he cried, tears spilling unchecked down his cheeks.

Bobby stood silently behind his friend, his stomach dropping at the sight before him. He'd seen a few exorcisms in his day, but never one like that. They knew the risks before attempting it, not everyone survived, but it had been Dean's best chance. They couldn't leave that thing out in the world, dragging Dean around. Seeing the boy lying limp in his father's arms as the once gruff hunter rocked back and forth begging his son to open his eyes was going to undo Bobby. He'd been there before, not with a son, but with a wife.

"Something's wrong, Bobby," John choked out brokenly.

* * *

Medical miracles were beyond his skill set, but research? John could handle that. At first, he'd been steered by the misguided belief that he could actually fix Dean, make everything better. It seemed that kissing booboo's wasn't quite the cure-all that had been advertised when the boys were little. He'd dumped a lot of responsibility on Sam as he fruitlessly searched for a means to make Dean whole again. In the end, having born nothing but one resentful son and another the state was trying to put in a mental facility, John gave up.

In the absence of a desirable conclusion, revenge was good at filling the cold, empty vastness that had replaced his soul. Caretaker and father by day, John studiously delved into research at night and occasionally when Sam was at school, too. He started by studying his advisory before moving on to what had gone wrong with the exorcism. The latter was harder to gain clarity on, the former, he had information in spades.

The years of research and hunting to gain answers had cost him. Sam finally had enough, walking out on John and surprisingly Dean; though surprised, deep down, John couldn't blame him. The lack of help put a dent in his ability to track down the demon, yet John managed to persevere. He had to. The demon never left a victim alive, and clearly the exorcism hadn't sent it back to hell like John wanted. He wasn't going to sit around and wait for the thing to regroup and pick off his helpless son.

Usually the demon picked off a few snacks between the decades; benefactors to asylums throughout the centuries provided a wealth of victims ripe for easy picking. After he and Bobby had ruined its plans for Dean, there hadn't been a single sign of the demon. With a blue moon on the ten year anniversary of the ultimate sacrifice, the son of a bitch had to be starving. There was no way it was going to skip its next full meal to cower away from John. This was his chance; he'd protect Dean the best way he knew how to.


	9. I will Keep you Safe and Sound when There's No One Left to Trust

"Come on, rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," barked Bobby, shaking the large and unconscious form sprawled on the bedroom floor. He slumped slightly in relief when Sam's eyes began to flutter open. Carefully, he slipped his arm behind the boy and lifted him into a sitting position. The bruising on Sam's face was extensive, enough that Bobby could practically feel ache they inflicted.

When he'd woken that morning, the house had been quiet and still, not unusual given the hour. It was somewhat odd with Dean being in the house, even odder knowing Sam had wanted to hit the road immediately. He figured the boys were sleeping a little late what with the late night Dean had, and that was just taking into account when Bobby had left Sam to wrangle his brother not the actual time Sam might have gotten Dean settled. Opting to let the boys sleep, he ambled down the stairs to start breakfast, figuring Dean would come and poke around once the aroma of bacon made its way through the house and that Sam would follow shortly after.

His plans went to the wayside as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of the front door swinging wide open. Stomach turning, he stepped out on to the front porch. Nothing was amiss, not a stone out of place. His eagle eyes scanned the yard looking for any sign of Dean. Sometimes when John brought him over and he was missing Sam, Dean would take off into the yard by himself but never out of sight in case John came looking. The yard was empty, nothing but the sparkle of the rising sun off the metal and glass of the various vehicles.

The Impala was still parked by the house; Sam hadn't left without him. There was no damage to the door, no one had broken in. That didn't mean something didn't get in though. Bobby took the stairs two at a time to the boys' room. "Balls." Both beds were empty, between them Sam sprawled on the floor; dried blood lacing the side of his face. He immediately went to Sam, trying to rouse the boy from his enforced slumber.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby asked, helping to steady Sam as he pulled himself onto the bed.

His jaw protested but he managed to choke out, "Dean," through the throb and the dried blood coating his tongue.

Bobby couldn't help his look of surprise at the omission. "Dean? Your brother Dean?" He'd seen John struggle with the kid during one of his full moon meltdowns, but their altercations never ended like that.

"Do you know another?" His sarcasm was misplaced, Bobby was trying to help. Worry, frustration, anger and maybe a little pride had taken a beating, loosening his verbal filter.

Bobby gave him a light swat on the shoulder. "Don't get smart with me boy. How rusty are you that Dean managed to do all that?"

Sam stared begrudgingly at Bobby. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt over his hand, dabbing it at his split lip tenderly. "He had a little help."

"From who?"

Sam fought the urge to throw up. The look on Dean's face was the same one that haunted his dreams for years. All of a sudden he was ten years old again, watching a monster walk out the door in his brother's skin. "The demon."

Bobby looked around the room for any sign of an epic struggle. Finding the only damage was Sam he asked, "It was here?"

"It was _Dean_." One minute things had been relatively fine but the next, the blanket of evil had wrapped tightly around them, smothering them once again. He had promised to protect Dean and he'd failed again.

"Holy hell," choked Bobby. "What do you mean "it was Dean?" Your daddy exorcised that demon years ago. I was there, I saw it."

"Well, obviously something went wrong." Sam was trying very hard to keep his tears from falling. That monster just got a hold of his brother and Dean barely survived last time, what was going to be left this time?

It was a devastating blow Bobby wasn't sure he could take, let alone Sam. Something wasn't right. The only time Dean was alone was when he was at Montclair, otherwise surely they would have noticed if a demon had been around to possess the kid. If it did get ahold of Dean again, why the rouse of pretending to be a poor brain damaged kid in a mental institution, let alone keeping the disguise up with Sam and himself?

Parental instincts Bobby didn't know he had kicked in as he watched Sam's brave facade begin to crumble. He put a firm hand on the back of Sam's neck, offering a reassuring squeeze, as he was not sure if a hug was the more appropriate and welcomed comfort for the youngest Winchester. Sam made the decision for them, snaking his arms around the older man and pulling him close. He'd seen a lot of horrible things hunting, seen the tattered remains of those left after evil forced its way into people's lives, but Bobby just had a soft spot for the Winchester boys and the never ending pile of crap they seemed to find themselves in.

Pulling away from Sam, he tilted his head towards the far wall. "Care to explain that?"

Sam hadn't noticed it the night before, being too busy focusing on Dean. The whole wall was a giant drawing, and a familiar one at that. If seeing the drawing of a young Dean cowering from the demon had been hard when it was on a regular sized piece of paper, seeing it on such a grand scale was devastating. The horror was the same but the details were altered. Different symbols accompanied the rendering on the wall and in bold lettering was the warning, 'He's coming.'

Staring at it, being dwarfed by its scale, Sam was starting to have some disturbing thoughts about just what his brother had been going through. His hand slipped into his pocket, the tatters of paper he had ripped from the drawings he found at the house forgotten by the revelation of the demon's future whereabouts. He placed them carefully on the bed for Bobby to examine. "Do these mean anything to you? They look familiar but I can't place where I've seen them before."

Bobby glanced at the scraps of paper Sam produced. A cold chill worked its way down his spine, the symbols all too familiar in all the worse ways. He was on his feet and marching to the living room without so much as a word. Sam followed as Bobby searched his many stacks of books, looking for one in particular. He held the old malicious looking book triumphantly. "I know what they're from. Question is where did you see them?"

Sam recognized it immediately. He'd spent spring break pouring over the pages in that book, deciphering and memorizing; anything that might come in handing against the monsters that prowled in the dark. "I've read that book. That's where I learned the exorcism I used on the demon when it found us at the motel."

"You used an exorcism from this book?" shouted Bobby, eyes squinting and face reddening with anger.

Sam looked at Bobby with curiosity. The man had never been bothered by Sam's inquisitive investigations of his library before. If anything Bobby seemed supportive of anyone becoming more well versed in information against the supernatural. "Yeah, but it didn't work. I don't think I did it right."

"They're NOT exorcisms, you idjit! It's a book on how to trap demons and spirits. It's a dark magic book to control demons. No wonder the exorcism John did didn't work like it should. It was counteracting to a botched spell you started."

Sam gave into the sinking feeling deep inside him, letting his head fall into his hands. His father's research flashed through his head, the careful painstaking notes, the thoroughness of it. John was always prepared, it would make sense that he would be equally if not more so prepared when he went to rescue Dean; except, he hadn't counted on Sam, who was too book savvy for his own good to throw a wrench in the plan. He was starting to get a scary idea of just how screwed Dean was. "I think it's worse than that. I think what I did worked. I think I trapped the demon inside Dean."


	10. I will Wade Through the Fire and Smoke like Sunlight Through the Haze

The gentle yet demanding thud at the door set John on edge. Snatching his handgun off the bed, he flipped the safety off and skulked towards the door. "You got the wrong room," barked John at the door, leveling the gun at chest height should anything force its way in.

"It's _me_ , Dad, open up," came the muffled reply.

It was a voice out of the past and not anything John expected to hear. It should have made him feel at ease, elated, not cause him to grip his gun tighter while shaking off a shudder of distress. Slowly he unlatched the chain on the door, it wasn't going to stop anything that wanted in anyways. He cracked the door wide enough to get a look at what stood on the other side. His ears hadn't deceived him; it wasn't wishful thinking or alcohol-fuelled hallucination. "Sammy," he croaked. The name had become unfamiliar and cumbersome from disuse. "Shouldn't you be at college?"

Sam pushed the door open, forcefully moving past John to avoid answering the slight challenge in the old man's question. "It's nice to see you too, _Dad_." Walking into the half-a-star motel room was like stepping into the past. The rooms were all the same, just the wallpaper changed. He could draw the layout and the Winchester occupation of it with his eyes closed.

Sam really was insane. To most people, it would be because he claimed to hunt the monsters that hid under the bed, but to those knew the Winchesters, it was because he somehow still expected his father to change. It was the same song stuck on repeat and Sam expected to hear something new each time the track began. Dean was counting on him. Sam couldn't change John, but he could try harder to fit his father's mold; put on a new song and force everyone to listen to something new. He turned to extend an olive branch, forge a battle pact to ride off under the same war banner to save Dean, only to be met with a face full of water, holy water. "What the hell?"

John stood there, hand out-stretched with the now empty flask, waiting. Nothing happened beyond irritation pulling at Sam's eyes. "Can't be too careful." It wasn't an apology, more of a declaration of fact that Sam should have known.

Sam wiped the water off his face with his sleeve; the innate need to go toe to toe with

John overriding everything else. "Not like you don't trust me or anything." The sarcastic retort said nothing and everything at the same time. Underneath the offended brush off was the unresolved tension of John's lack of faith in him. Between the family secret when he was younger and taking care of Dean while he chased after the demon, John clearly didn't trust Sam to go off on his own, to taste a normal life and return in one piece. Hell, he didn't trust him to want to take revenge against the thing that had been ravaging his brother for the last ten years.

"What are you doing here?" snapped John, anything but warm and inviting. He had enough on his plate, without whatever his youngest was going to bring, and Sam couldn't be there. He'd lost one son, he couldn't allow the other to be within reach of the demon.

"I found Dean." The statement was cold, void of any feeling of betrayal Sam felt both on his and Dean's behalf. "Bobby came and got me, told me..."

"He shouldn't have done that!" interrupted John, slamming the door closed and storming over to place his weapon on the bed.

"What? He shouldn't have left Dean to rot in some clinic while you go on some kamikaze mission?" Sam's anger was emphasized with grandiose hand gestures.

"No, gotten you involved," John corrected, taking a step towards his irate son. Clearly neither was going to back down. He just wished Sam could see the bigger picture, that he wanted to protect them as much as he could.

"He's my brother, Dad, _my_ _brother_. Besides, I did this to him, I deserve the chance to try and do something right." He needed to make it right. Dean had always looked out for him, put himself between Sam and the metaphorical bullet and this time Sam had been the one to fire the gun. He needed to help Dean. He needed his father to tell him everything was going to be alright, that like when they were children, dad could make it alright again. He needed John to be able to save Dean, because clearly Sam was unable.

John had been so busy trying to fix things while dodging Sam's anger at him all the time, he never noticed that Sam had been feeling guilty. "You didn't do this to Dean."

"Yes, I did!" Bobby's revelation had made his guilt pretty clear. Dean's blood was solely on his hands in this one. _Ten years_...

John pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache starting to form behind his eyes. Straightening Sam out was important but like most things, there wasn't enough time to fight evil and morally support his boys. Still, time or not, he might not have another chance after tomorrow night and Sam deserved to be absolved. "Sam, it was the demon. Something went wrong in the exorcism. I didn't account for something. It wasn't your fault."

"It is," insisted Sam. It was hard to think, let alone say, and have to confess it to John Winchester of all people. "I made it so the exorcism wouldn't work."

John's face softened. "You were ten years old Sam, you couldn't have done anything. What are you talking about?"

"I cast a spell." His voice trembled slightly and his eyes refused to meet his father's. He braced himself for the righteous fury that should rain down upon him, that intimidating John Winchester swagger that sent many a grown man quivering in fear.

His brain stuttered to a halt. Sam had, spoken English words but John's brain refused to comprehend the meaning behind them. Surely they didn't mean what he thought they meant. "You what?"

"A spell to lock a demon in someone," clarified Sam in the face of his father's disbelief.

"You cast a spell," repeated John, in numb disbelief. "Trap a demon in a person?" Sam nodded silently. "On your brother?" It was getting hard to breath, as the room tilted and swayed. His hand searched blindly for the bed behind him as he lowered himself down.

There was too much to think about at Sam's implication. John acknowledged he often left the boys to their own devices when they were young. There were many things the boys got up to when he was off hunting that he didn't know about but he still did his fatherly duty to find out. He knew about the Playboy Dean had stolen from the corner store and hid under the cardboard bottom of his duffle bag. He was even pretty sure it was the same one he used to explain the finer points of being interested in girls to Sammy years later. He knew about Sam's 'pet' frog that had travelled with them from Minnesota to Tuscan during the summer of eighty-six, Dean sneaking out for his fumbling first kiss on top of the campground playground when he was ten. Hell, he knew about Sam's forged field trip form to go on an overnight trip out of town to see a once in a lifetime art exhibition while John was out of town; even dragged Dean back from his late night foray into the New York music scene. But, one delving into witchcraft? How had he missed that? He'd tried so hard to keep his boys safe, now one had started down a dark and dangerous path and the other trapped with a demon... _Oh god_.

Sam shattered his father's silence. "Dad, Dean's going to be here..."

"Why'd you bring your brother here?" demanded John. All the things the demon needed to hurt him, everything John loved in one place for easy pickings.

"I didn't! That's what I'm trying to tell you." Guilt slipped away under the crushing weight of anger. Here Sam was, trying to bear his soul, apologise and explain to someone who could comprehend and his dad was focusing on the wrong things.

"I left your brother so he wouldn't be in harm's way and..." ranted John.

Sam took the aggressive step toward his father, closing the distance between them and in an all too familiar dance. "And did you ever stop to think that while you're here to get revenge, that thing might want it too?"

John glared daggers at his son using every bit of strength he had to keep from throwing punches. He'd never beat his kids, saved his fists for more appropriate targets but god damn Sam knew how to push everyone of his buttons.

"That's why I'm here, Dad. That thing has had a hold on Dean this whole time and it finally gained complete control over him yesterday. The demon's in control and it's on its way here, just like you predicted."

"Oh, I'm already here."

Both men turned their heads towards the door, time coming to a shocking standstill between heartbeats. "Dean," they said in unison.

Dean tilted his head, a toothy grin crawling across his face. He raised his hand, a force slamming into both Winchesters staring slack-jawed at him. He let out a satisfied chuckle as both men flew across the room, slamming hard against the wall to crumple boneless on the floor in a shower of plaster and splinters. He looked at his prey, unconscious on the floor. "I love family reunions."

He heaved Sam's dead weight over his shoulder like it was nothing. Whistling like he was simply taking the trash out to knock some mundane chore off a to-do list, he made his way to the Impala that Sam had so thoughtfully parked near the door. Swiping the keys out of his burden's pocket, Dean popped the trunk before dropping Sam, none too gently, in. He used the rope lying in the truck so conveniently provided to fasten Sam's feet and wrists, smiling as the rope pulled painfully tight. John received the same treatment right after, barely fitting in the cramped space with his son. "Now the fun can begin." The slamming of the trunk punctuated his gloating.


	11. Will you Take my Hand? We can Make our Stand

Sam felt heavy, like sleep hadn't yet released its grip on him yet. His tongue darted over his dry lips as he nestled his head deeper into the pillow. He just needed a couple more hours. He clenched his eyes tighter, trying to stave off the intrusive light. Jessica must be getting up early for a midterm. "Can you kill the light, Jess?" He mumbled softly.

"Well, I'm certainly gonna kill something."

Sam's eyes snapped open. That voice decidedly did not belong to Jessica, in fact, it wasn't even his bed he was lying on. The stark whiteness of the room hurt his eyes, but his hands refused to block his vision from the sterile surroundings. He tugged at his restraints as he tried to focus on the blurry vision moving before him.

Dean squat down next to the rusted bed. "Hiya, Sammy! It's been awhile."

"You," snarled Sam, arching off the bed as far as the restraints would allow. He wanted to wipe its smug look off his brother's face.

Dean just smiled and patted Sam on the cheek. He stood up, walking to the other side of the room, Sam following him with his eyes. A quick kick to the bed frame rattled the bed, causing John to glare even harder than he already had been. With a hard and quick yank, Dean ripped off the duct tape he had fastened across John's mouth. Dean raised his arms, emphasizing the room. "Like what I've done with the place?" There was a cold steel examination table in the middle, the usual fixtures the hunters had come to associate with a morgue. The counter by the sink had a variety of tools proudly displayed, all necessary for someone to go on a dismemberment spree. "Been in the family for years," Dean added with a wink.

Sam angled his head to get a better look at his dad. John wasn't in any better shape or circumstance than Sam at the moment. "Get out of my brother." The threat didn't really have anything behind it other than Sam's rage. There wasn't really anything he could do that he wouldn't be doing to Dean in return.

Dean's blood thirsty eyes snapped back towards Sam as Dean swaggered back over to him, leaving John to twist and pull against his own bindings. Dean reached out and tapped Sam on the nose. "You know, I would if I could. Thanks to you though, that's not an option. I'm stuck here, in this sad pathetic excuse for a human being." He rolled his eyes. "Well, not entirely stuck. I'm just lucky enough to straddle the veil between this sickening existence and hell." Switching from his patronizing tone to a more accusing one, he added, "Did you tell daddy what you did?"

Sam refused to engage. He wasn't going to get sucked into a childish argument when it wasn't even his brother picking the fight. His glare promised pain, agonizing death, to peel apart the thing that thought it could get away with wearing his brother's face; his silence reinforced just how helpless he was.

Dean practically skipped across the room, turning his attention back on John. He whispered conspiratorially, "Sammy there put a lock on me," he tapped his temple for emphasis, "binding me to Dean-o here! You however, John, did the _real_ damage. I told you, you wouldn't like what happened if you performed that exorcism."

"I'm going to kill you," seethed John. Unlike Sam, it was a promise he would keep. It would kill him, but one way or another, his son wasn't going to suffer at the hands of that monster one minute more. He wasn't going to idly stand by and watch Dean endure hell.

"What are you going to do? Wrap your hands around Dean's neck and squeeze the life out of him?" Dean feigned hurt, placing a hand over his heart. "Words hurt John. Besides, didn't you promise to protect him? Isn't that what you whispered in his ear every night as you tucked your boy into bed?"

John tried to not let the violation show on his face. Every tender moment he built with Dean: the warm afternoons spent tinkering in the carport, the rainy Sundays watching the game, and that thing had been there to share it too, to sneer in Dean's ear and laugh at any possible comfort the boy was able to take.

Playing to his captive audience, Dean continued his showmanship, striding to the middle of the room like a rock star about to take the mic. "See, ol' Johnny boy got his hands on a real special exorcism. I'm thinking it was probably special just for the likes of me. Would have worked too, if Sam hadn't meddled beforehand. No, instead they counteracted each other, letting me waste away in hell, while my consciousness was stuck in Dean's wasteland of a mind. For years I had to build my reserves, feeding slowly off your boy, gaining moderate control during the full moon. You know it's when the crazy people come out?"

"And now that you're back in control, what are you going to do?" asked Sam. Blood ran down his hands as his skin tore and split under the friction and pull of the restraints. The pain fuelled him to keep trying to slip free, to not give up. He had to break out of his bonds and save Dean.

Ignoring Sam, Dean turned his attention back on their father. "I gotta hand it to you Johnny, you fortified a rock! But I slowly chipped away at him until the inside matched the outside. There's nothing left but the drooling retard you've had to deal with this whole time."

Hot tears burned at John's eyes, spilling despite his desperate desire to keep them hidden. There was pride at hearing that Dean had been difficult and made the son of a bitch work for every inch. He had built Dean up to take the hits and keep marching on, to not go quietly into that good night. All he could see behind the monster's maniacal smile was his scared baby, that despite the horrific world he had been thrust into after his mother died, still took the time to dry John's tears and tell him everything was going to be okay. John had let it be anything but.

"Now as a special thank you, I'm going to take you two apart, piece by piece; literally and figuratively. I haven't had a good meal in a long time and you two are a smorgasbord." Dean walked over to the counter, a gleam in his eye as he eyed his toys spread out across the surface. He ran his finger lovingly along the edge of a knife, reveling in the coolness of the steel and the sharpness of the edge.

The buckle on the strap digging into Sam's wrist was getting loose. It'd be only one hand, one mangled hand, but it'd be free. He could work with that.

He looked pensively at Sam, his hand trailing over the various implements on the counter until enclosing around the handle of a particularly vicious blade. He twirled it between his fingers with a practised ease, closing the distance between himself and Sam. "There were several times I thought Dean might spill the beans. Oh god, how he tried to tell you idiots. You were too busy fighting each other to notice."

Sam swallowed hard. He tried to search his memory, to try and disprove the claim but mostly his memories consisted of the happy moments as they bled into the arguments. Dean very well could have been screaming for help, begging for someone to notice him, really _notice_ him, and Sam had been too busy to notice. Dean could have written a book on Sam at any age. Sam was woefully coming to the conclusion that he could barely manage a few passages in return and half of them would be glaring condemnation of his brother's role before the incident.

"I think the thing that finally broke that will of his was you two walking away." Dean stared into Sam's eyes and for a moment, Sam could have sworn it was Dean looking back. The moment was over as fast as it had been there; the heinous smile back on Dean's face. If Sam ever saw that look of his brother's face again, he'd puke. "Before we begin, how about you tell me where that old coot you were hanging around with is?"

Sam gave an evil grin of his own. "Bobby stayed behind to research how to exorcise your sorry ass." No matter what happened in the abandoned hospital tonight, the demon was going to get what was coming to him. Sam and John, had failed but Bobby would set it right. "He's going to send you packing."

"Looking forward to it. Not gonna happen, but it would be interesting."

The slash was quick and decisive. It was shallow and long, nothing more than a promise of what was to come. It stung as blood began to rise up, highlighting the line that hadn't previously been there. Sam let out a small groan, before clenching his teeth to prevent anything else from slipping out as he glanced down at the cut across chest.

"God damn it, you leave him alone!" screamed John, thrashing harder against bindings holding him. It was his worst nightmare come to life: helpless to watch evil hurt both his boys. The demon might have been cutting into Sammy but John had no delusion that it was making sure Dean saw and felt every moment of it. Three birds, one stone.

Dean raised the knife again, aiming to do more serious damage.

"Damn it, Dean, I know you're in there. I know," pleaded Sam. He just needed a moment more to get loose, needed Dean to stop. "You got to fight this man, just a little more. Then we can go home." It was a cheap blow, a promise that Sam had used cavalierly in the past, but one that always resonated, despite how many times he failed to deliver.

The knife stopped, hovering in mid air over Sam. "Home?" asked Dean. It was a hollow whisper; an idea that if spoken too loud would shatter to dust.

"Yes, home," Sam assured. "You, me and dad. Just like old times."

A sneer warped Dean's face. "Nah, I don't think so."

Sam braced himself for the inevitable explosion of pain as the blade came down, scrunching his eyes tightly closed. He flinched at the thud that followed in the absence of pain, surprised to see his dad wrestling with Dean on the floor. The pair rolled back and forth, each trying to get the upper hand in a no win fight.

Giving one more desperate yank, Sam's hand finally slipped free. Frantically he undid the other restraints binding him to the bed before scrambling to his feet. Dean, having gotten the upper hand, was straddled over their father, throwing punch after punch, not holding back. Sam's heart pounded to the rhythm of the sickening cracking sound every time Dean's fist impacted John's face.

Dean's steady rhythm was interrupted as hands wrapped themselves tightly around his waist, yanking him off of his victim. He toppled over, landing awkwardly on top of Sam. Sam refused to let go, leaving Dean little recourse but to throw elbows against Sam's soft spots.

Sam knew he had to take Dean down; it was the only way to stop the demon from filleting the rest of the family but every time he brought his fist back to throw a punch all he could see was the big brother that had done everything to protect him. "Come on, Dean, I know you can fight this."

"Are you sure he wants to?" snarled Dean, having no compunction about the veracity of his hits. "Maybe you and daddy deserve to feel what it's like to have someone tear you to pieces."

"Shut up! You're not him."

"And how would you know?" Dean slammed his head back, crashing hard into Sam's face.

Sam felt his nose crack before the geyser of blood erupted. Instinctively his hand released its hold to come and cradle his aching face. Dean didn't hesitate, turning over to take advantage of the stunned man below him.

John coughed, expelling the blood that had settled in the back of his throat. Forcing his aching muscles into action, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, one step closer to getting back on his feet. He could hear the boys going at it. There would only be one outcome; Sam would throw his punches, but the demon wouldn't be as gracious.

Dean sat up straight, pulling back for a final blow that would take Sam out of the fight, when a crack of thunder caused the room to tremble. Suddenly, Dean wasn't on top of Sam anymore and it took his fuzzy brain far too long to notice. He gingerly tilted his head from side to side to try and see where Dean had gone. The only thing in his line of sight was a big black boot. His sluggish eyes followed the boot up along the denim pant leg, over the flannel shirt. "Bo'bby?" The garbled word wasn't even clear to his own ears.

The pointed shotgun registered loud and clear though. He followed the angle to find Dean sprawled out on the ground. "No!"

Bobby rushed over, putting a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder to stop the kid's pathetic attempts to sit up. Never taking his eyes off Dean's still form, he said, "It's rock salt. No permanent damage done."

Sheer determination kept him going as he crawled towards the demon. Dean was just starting to stir, shaking off the violent impact of the shotgun blast, too stunned to notice John descending upon him. He grabbed Dean in a choke hold, cutting off the body's air supply. Letting go wasn't an option; John found an inner strength to hold on despite the demon's valiant efforts to slip free.

Dean clawed at John's arm snaked around his neck; kicked and elbowed anything within reach. The world was growing dim and fuzzy as he tried to suck in any amount of air to fuel his attack. Slowly his limbs became too heavy to lift and he felt himself going slack against John's unrelenting grip.

"Dad, stop," slurred Sam, trying to pick himself off the ground. He'd seen that determination in his father's eyes before, knew that nothing walked away from that look. "You're going to kill Dean."

John continued to press harder, not giving up an inch of pressure when the body in his grip went slack. Holding for a moment more, he lowered his head cradling the body in his arms. "It's over Dean, it's over," he whispered.


	12. For Your Love, All You Are, I'd Start a Riot

Sam gratefully accepted the bag of ice Bobby offered him, placing it tenderly against his face. He was numb but somehow his face managed to trump the empty feeling inside of him. For a very real moment, he'd thought his dad might actually kill Dean. A part of him wondered if John would have had Bobby not found them when he did. John had knocked Dean unconscious, but he had had the 'out of options' look on his face that usually ended in heartbreak for the Winchesters.

Bobby Singer, the beacon of hope the man had always been for Sam, had pulled a Hail Mary: showing up at the eleventh hour with promise of a way to reverse the demon's hold. Sam had collapsed with relief at the news, letting the blackness pull him under before he could hear all the details of Bobby's plan.

Sitting there now, looking at Dean's slumped form thoroughly tied to a chair, Sam didn't know if he could take much more, let alone his brother. Dean had his fair share of bruises from their skirmish. More importantly, now that Sam was looking, really looking at Dean, he realized his brother looked tired. He supposed that fighting against something holding you prisoner in your own head for a decade would be tiring. Sam realized he didn't know if he'd have had the strength to hold out as long as Dean had. Cut off from the world and Dean was still trying to protect them.

Different scenarios ran through his head. What would they do if it didn't work? What if it did? What were they going to get back? He wanted to ask Bobby exactly what to expect but he was afraid of the answer.

"You sure you got this figured out?" asked John, hovering over Bobby's shoulder as he finished drawing the last of the symbols on the floor.

"As sure as any of us can be."

"We were pretty sure last time too."

"We didn't have all the facts then," grumbled Bobby, using every last ounce of patience to not turn around and pop John one in the face. "We do now."

"About that." John reeled around on Sam. Now that the situation was a fraction more secure, he had time to really examine how it all spun so wildly out of control. "What the hell were you thinking? Witchcraft Sam!"

Sam flinched, feeling all of five years old again. He dropped his gaze. "I didn't know it was witchcraft. I thought it was an exorcism," he said in a small voice by way of apology or explanation, something that would redeem the road to hell.

Like a red flag in front of a bull, all John could see were all the ways everything had went wrong, how it would continue to go wrong. "You were playing with things you don't understand." He'd taught his boys better than that, taught them to be hunters, to stay firmly on the side of right and leave the darkness to vile worms of wickedness.

"Stop it! Both of you!" shouted Bobby, caught in between what might as well have been two squabbling children. Calmer, but still with an edge of bite, he turned to John. "He was only trying to help. Kid didn't know what he was doing. It's not like you've never made a mistake before." It was way too late to play the blame game, especially if it wasn't going to change anything or solve their immediate problem.

"Not one that hurt Dean," snapped John, refusing to back down.

"That's debatable," mumbled Bobby under his breath. "Now let's stow the arguing and get this boy back to rights."

"Will he be?" asked Sam, finding his voice.

Bobby squinted his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"Back to normal," he clarified. Sam and his father were both pensive in the wake of silence that followed. What did normal really mean anymore? Would he be disappointed

if Dean wasn't back like he was before the demon entered their lives? For the first time in years, Sam had considered the possibility that he would have his brother back completely, to hold a two sided conversation and fight over petty stupid brother stuff that didn't matter.

A soft moan crawled out of Dean's lips, putting all theories on hold. His head lolled to the side, before his eyes slowly opened. It was only a moment before everyone's heart's plummeted as a maniacal laugh broke out as Dean straightened himself in the chair. "If you wanted to delve into the kinky stuff, all you had to do was ask. Your own son, John, that's twisted, even for me, but you know what they say: you should do one thing every day that your parents would be ashamed of. What do you think Mary would think about that?"

"Say whatever you want," snarled John, barely holding himself back. If it wasn't the face of his boy staring back at him, he wouldn't have been able to. "You're not going to be saying anything much longer." Hell was too good for this demon but he was going to take immense pleasure in sending it back anyways.

"Oh... you think you found a way to undo Sam and your good work."

"Know we have." Bobby nodded to the expansive art project painted on the floor.

Dean pulled at the bindings around his wrist, sawing back and forth until the flesh split, trickling blood onto the wooden armrests.

"Stop that." Sam stood closer to his brother, ready to intervene if the demon continued its abuse of Dean's body.

Dean glared. "You think I can do anything worse than what you've done to him?"

The list of offenses against Dean was long, longer than Sam had ever realized. Most revelations had come with age, but most had come when he was suddenly charged with the role of 'big brother.' He never really appreciated the implication of 'take care of your brother' until it had become his guiding principle. Fixing this was going to be the first step in trying to make it better for Dean.

"Bobby, get started." Bobby followed John's command, reading out the incantation he'd called in every favor to get. He stayed focused on his task no matter the screams or writhing before him. Dean's eyes darkening to a soulless black was the only motivation he needed to keep going.

"I'm getting my brother back, you son of a bitch."

Dean let out a large gasp, his breath coming in shuddering wisps. He looked around the room confused and frantic until his eyes locked on Sam. It was like he was seeing his brother for the first time. "Sammy?"

Sam held his breath, the voice in the back of his head telling him it was a lie, another trick, one last desperate attempt by the demon to gut him. His hand hovered half way between comforting his brother and exacting his rage.

Gritting his teeth in pain, Dean through his head back. "Sammy... I can't... he's tearing me apart. Don't leave Sam." Panic crept into his voice as a lone tear rolled over his bruised cheek.

"Dean!" Sam kneeled by his brother's side while Bobby kept chanting, John pacing the room, helpless to make the situation conclude faster. Sam grabbed a hold of Dean's hand like he was never going to let go. "I'm here, I'm right here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you sure you want what's left?" snarled Dean through clenched teeth.

"I want my brother back," Sam stated firmly, probably with more conviction than he'd ever said anything before.

Dean let out a high pitched wail, like a dying animal in the night. A bright blue flash encompassed the whole room, blinding the tense and stressed occupants before plunging the room into the murky pitch black depths of nothingness. The room was deathly silent as the last traces of Dean's cry echoed down the halls. The lights flickered in time with the pounding heart beats and ragged breaths of the men in the room.

Sam was frozen beside his brother. Dean's slumped form painfully still in the absence of painful spasms the demon inflicted during its death throes. "Dean." The whispered plea was agonizingly loud in the stillness. Shakily, Sam reached out, his hand cupping his brother's cheek, skin colder than ice. His heart jumped in his throat as the horrible realization that Dean's chest wasn't moving. "He's not breathing!" he shouted.

John and Bobby who had been equally as afraid to move for fear of finding their efforts had been for not, sprang into action. Sam numbly fell aside as John pushed him out of the way. Releasing the restraints confining his boy, John laid Dean's lax body on the ground. He failed to hold back the tears as he breathed into Dean's cold lips as Bobby performed chest compressions. Seconds ticked by painfully slow as they waited for a sign of life and yet agonizingly fast as the precious moments to save Dean's life sped by.

John leaned closer, his warm breath doing little to take the cold sting out of his son's flesh. Lips pressed to Dean's ear, he whispered, "You come back to us, son. It doesn't end like this, you hear me?" John breathed again, his hand fumbling across Dean's neck for a pulse. "That's an order, Dean. We don't quit in this family," he shouted, panic killing any semblance of calm.

Dean sucked in a ragged shaky, wet breath, his limbs weakly scrambling for purchase as he coughed feebly. "Dad?" The word sounded so small so fragile. "Sammy?"

"We're right here," promised Sam.

Tears welled in Dean's eyes as his face twisted between abject misery and relief. He sobbed, "I was so lost."

Everyone else let out a collective breath of relief. John wrapped his arms tightly around his son, pulling him to his chest with plans to never let go again. He rested his chin on top of Dean's head, savoring the steady albeit weak inhales signifying life. Blindly he reached behind him, finding and capturing Sam's hand to hold it tightly. He had both his boys.

* * *

Sam sat leaning against the headboard as morning light began to flicker in between the blinds. He hadn't got much sleep in the last couple of days; the foolish notion that if he closed his eyes Dean wouldn't be in the bed next to him come morning. He stared at his brother peacefully passed out, not a care in the world etched on his face. He almost didn't want Dean to wake up, the possibility that everything that had happened being a wishful flight of fancy and reality crumble under the weight of disappointment.

"That's creepy. You're being creepy, Sam. Like registered sex offender creepy," mumbled Dean, glaring at his brother through half open eyes.

Sam snorted. It was so typically Dean he wanted to cry. He thought he would never hear one of his brother's jabs again. "You're a jerk," replied Sam, with mocked insult. He brushed his bangs out of his eye to disguise the fact he was really drying his eyes.

"Bitch." Dean grit his teeth against the pain and uncomfortable pull of all his aching and abused muscles as he threw back the blankets and slowly sat up.

Sam scrambled to his feet, hovering ridiculously close in case he had to help. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Dean pushed his hand away. "I'm fine. Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

"Treating me like I'm going to break. The demon's gone. I'm fine Sam, you can tell Dad and Bobby that too." It was comforting for all of about a minute, then the kid gloves were more a detriment than a help. Dean appreciated it, he did, but the babying was just a reminder of how screwed up things were, of just how helpless he had been when he was trapped.

"They're just trying to make sure you're alright. You were stuck with that demon in your head for ten years, Dean."

"I know; I was there. I don't need the reminder," snapped Dean. He felt a little bad for snapping but Sam's puppy dog eyes had that effect.

"It's okay to not be alright."

"Thank you, Dr. Phil."

" _Dean_."

Dean let out a long sigh. It was exhausting pretending everything was alright, but he didn't know how to move on any other way. The guilt was suffocating. He hadn't been strong enough to stop the demon from killing all those people when he'd first been taken; hadn't been strong enough to get rid of the demon on his own, like he was sure his father would have been able to. Hell, he hadn't been strong enough to properly warn his family that they had a demon amongst them, and that demon could have picked them off at any time if Dean hadn't distracted it.

"It was dark, Sam. I could see and hear everything but it was like I was outside from everything that was going on. He wouldn't let me... I tried Sam, I really did. He was just too strong and he kept getting stronger. It was like being locked in a box, like I knew you and Dad were there but there was a thick piece of glass between us. Then you left and Dad left and ... it was like he was right, like everything he'd been telling me was right."

"Dean, demons lie. Whatever he told you, it's not true," assured Sam.

"Yeah," agreed Dean, though he wasn't completely sure he believed it as much as his brother. Sam hadn't lived with it the way he had, seen how its promises had come true. _They're all going to leave you, Dean. Just a matter of time._ He cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter. You know me, I'm awesome. Couple of days and it'll all seem like a bad dream. Brightside: got out of the last couple of years of school."

Sam chucked his pillow at Dean, satisfied when it smacked him in the face. "You could always go back and get your grade twelve."

"Can you imagine me in a classroom? Wasn't good at it before; I got about ten years of stupid facts to catch up on. Besides, ghosts don't care about GEDs."

"Your taste in music never left the eighties so you don't need to bone up on music trivia. You can do it right here from Bobby's. They have online courses and you're smart, wouldn't take much. Do it for yourself."

As far as ideas went, it wasn't horrible. He'd need something to pass the time while he got in shape to be able to join Sam and John out on a hunt. His mother had always talked about the possibilities Dean would have after he graduated, maybe he'd do it for her. Dean Winchester: High School Graduate; that'd make a few teachers drop dead.

"Maybe, Sammy." He hobbled his way to the door, determined to get through his morning routine without Nurse Sam hovering. "Oh and Sam, we're never talking about the demon or anything that happened ever again. Chick flick moment is over."


	13. I will Fight till the Flag Waves White, Until my Dying Days

Blood painted his small hands, running through his fists like warm water; it was thick, coating him like a well applied varnish. The final choked gasps of the body hanging from his grip evaporated like the soul formerly occupying the body before Dean's hand let the carcass hit the ground without his consent. Try as hard as he might, he couldn't get any part of his body to obey his commands. Instead, the world came into sharper focus, highlighting all the blood he had spilled since emerging from the shadow darkness he had awoken in.

He stared at his blood-stained hands as though they belonged to someone else. They were no longer familiar; the weapons his father had been crafting to protect innocents, to protect the family, had now been the cause of malevolent destruction. His stomach rolled violently as the sheer terror that'd pierced his victim's eyes flashed before him. There was so much death packed into the few days since he had last told Sam to run, before staring down the evil that had forced its way into their motel.

"You can fight it all you like, but you're not the one in charge here," came a voice. It was laced with malice and seemed to come from every molecule surrounding Dean, and yet there was no one around: just the echo of his stuttering breaths.

His heart pounded in his chest. It was some kind of nightmare; he'd fallen asleep in front of the TV watching horror movies after Sammy went to bed again. He just had to wake up.

"You're not dreaming. You're mine and we're going to have so much fun _together,_ Dean. Oh the things we'll do, the people we'll kill. You're about to become important. Put those killer instincts your daddy gave you to good use. Maybe we'll try some out on Sam?"

"Who are you?" choked out Dean, his breath ragged with fear. Something pulled tight deep within his chest. It was his job to protect Sam, to keep the kid safe, and while his track record for the last fourteen years hadn't been without tarnish, Sammy was fine. Now something was threatening to destroy that and do it with Dean's complacency.

"I'm Dean Winchester," replied the maniacal voice, with firm conviction.

The world began to swim again, darkness flooding in and drowning him. Just for a moment, like a distress beacon launched in the night, he thought he saw his father storming into the room. Dad would make everything alright, take the darkness away. Dad always cleaned up his messes.

* * *

Dean could feel the soft blankets surrounding him; it was like the world was right, that his last thoughts of blood and a voice whispering in his ear were a distant and bad dream. It was quiet in a comforting way. He could feel Dad's presence constant and reassuring beside him in a beat up old chair and Sam curled up asleep on the bed next to him. There was a sense of calm that washed through him, replacing the gut wrenching fear and terror that permeated every inch of him before.

The hospital room went watery, a ripple sprawling out through the room, moving everything away from peaceful and safe. Everything was too bright, too sharp, like over exposed film. The simple act of breathing felt like he was encased in honey; not painful to pull in breaths, but somehow more effort than the simple act should have been.

"... in Chicago for a little while. You always liked that city, right Dean?" Asked John, without raising his head from his hands. He was hunched beside Dean's bed, too cowardly to look at what he had let happen to his boy.

Dean wanted to answer, even had a reply on the tip of his tongue, but his lips wouldn't move. He couldn't even turn his head to look at his father. Fear shot through him like a railway spike, compounded by the fact that John didn't even seem to expect a response from him. He just continued his one-sided conversation.

"Little time to recuperate and you'll be good as new." John's voice wavered, a hot and aching tremor pulling at his voice. "Doctors don't know everything, buddy. And I promise, Dean, I'll find something or someone to help. You just gotta hang tight for me. Can you do that?"

Of course he could, Dean could follow orders with the best of them. He'd seen firsthand what happened when he didn't, seen the terror breaking his father's stoic mask as he rushed to Sammy's slumped form after sending the Shtriga hightailing it out of their bedroom.

"Of course we can, can't we, Dean?" posed the dark voice. "We can wait patiently for our opportunity to slowly choke the life out of Sam. Maybe we'll slit Daddy's throat while he sleeps?"

Dean's breath hitched as pure panic washed across his face. He carefully watched his dad out of the corner of his eye for any sign that John heard the vicious threats being thrown at the family. There was none.

Fear wrapped around Dean like an octopus, curling tightly around every inch and stick with a fierceness that was never going to let go. "No!" he screamed, without the sound ever leaving his throat. "Don't you touch them."

"What are you going to do about it?" The voice taunted, filled with mild amusement and an overconfidence just begging to be punch.

Sitting beside him, the man that had made it his mission to protect not only his children but innocent people across the country, behind him, the brother that would do anything for him, and Dean couldn't reach out to either of them. He was surrounded by the people that mattered most and yet he was alone and completely, utterly on his own. He tried to reach out and grab his father's arm, gain some attention to the problem brewing. Dean had never put so much effort into such a small movement, his pinky finger twitching on his left hand. Slowly his ring finger followed suit, breaking the mysterious hold with the sheer motivation of Dean's unrelenting glare.

"You're not going to touch my family, you bastard," snarled Dean.

"What are you going to do Dean? I have control of your body."

"Not my mind. I'll find away to tell them and then you'll be finished," he countered, his sureness growing with each millimeter of motion he gained in his hand.

"You're going to save them Dean-o?"

"Yes."

"Like you saved your mother?"

His hand slid off his thigh, moving towards his dad with an agonizing slowness. He could do this, he could make his dad understand how much danger they were all in...

Everything went black. The floor creaked beneath Dean's feet, letting out a low groan that cut through the silence. He glanced down at the carpet beneath him, the light color coming off as grey in the murky darkness. His forehead scrunched in confusion, this wasn't right. He was laying in a hospital bed.

A soft orange glow flickered against the wall, compelling Dean to move towards it. Obediently, he put one foot in front of the other, moving closer. The light became brighter, building in intensity along with the sound and billowing smoke. It clogged his lungs, burning him from the inside out and stealing his breath. Still, he moved cautiously closer down the familiar hallway, feet silently shuffling along the carpet, the heat building around him.

He stopped close to the door, near enough to catch a glance into the small bedroom but not close enough to get a complete visual. It was enough though. The fire danced up the walls clawing hungrily to the person on the ceiling. "Mom." The word escaped his lips before the horror of what he was witnessing even registered.

Tears, almost as hot as the flames that had consumed his whole world ten years ago rolled down his cheeks. "This isn't real," he breathed.

John's anguished cry made Dean flinch. He had to do something; he couldn't let her die, not again. Everything in Dean told him to move, to take action, but he stood there frozen in fear just outside the door to Sam's nursery. Frozen: just like he had been in the hospital room, in the warehouse when the demon was using him to kill all those people. He finally snapped out of it when John thrust a precious bundle into his arms, ordering him to get outside.

Dean ran. He ran fast and as far as he could from the grisly sight burning itself into Sammy's ceiling. Standing there in the front yard, watching his life go up in flames, he realized he didn't have Sam in his arms. He wasn't four years old either. A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, providing everything but reassurance and comfort.

"Couldn't save mommy; hell, you didn't even try. Ran the first chance you got," crowed the ominous presence beside him.

Dean watched as the firemen rushed into the burning house. Despite their bravery and dedication, they were going to be too late, too late to save Mary and too late to suck the poison out of Dean's life.

* * *

It was an endless loop of every failure, every horrible thing Dean had witnessed in his short and deadly life. It was a storm raging in his mind, pounding at his battered defenses that he had had no warning to fortify before the onslaught. Ever failure he was forced to relive was a fresh cut, burrowing deep in his soul and psyche.

He'd lost count after the two hundredth time he'd watched his mother burn. It was one nightmare after another, flashes of the real world few and far between and certainly not a long enough respite to recover. The calming motion of the Impala helped ease the trembling that seemed to become a constant part of Dean's inner self. If Dad could see him now; a raggedy mess in the face of his own personal horrors.

He'd tried to fight back, but it was too much, the demon too strong. He'd gone so far as to actually attack the demon, throwing punches. The end result was a terrifying realization that he had actually gained control of his own body, but instead of fighting the demon, he'd given his father a broken nose. The demon had done a thorough job of warping any sense of reality and nightmare Dean had been left with.

The torment had continued on for forever. There wasn't a time Dean could remember when he wasn't engaged in an internal battle against an unfair foe.

"Do you understand now?" asked the malevolent presence. "You tell John or Sam anything about me, and what I've put you through the last two months will be nothing compared to what I'll do to them."

Dean believed the threat, had witnessed firsthand what the demon was capable of. He'd only been enduring his own personal hell for two months and not the lifetime it seemed like. Finding his voice, his fight, he demanded, "Then why don't you do it?"

There was a stretch of silence in which Dean thought he wouldn't get an answer. Demon's didn't negotiate, they destroyed everything in their path. No matter who the demon had control of, John wasn't going to let it hurt anyone else, making the leader of the Winchester clan a threat. John was a threat the demon seemed to be leaving alone.

The demon had a stranglehold on Dean, but perhaps it wasn't as complete as he originally thought. If he could keep it together under the demon's relentless focus, maybe he could find away to warn his family. Dean just had to be strong.

"Maybe you don't have as much control as you claim," challenged Dean, with a defiance most of his teachers had warned him against.

"Maybe," conceded the demon. "Want to take that chance? Because if they even suspect that we're still together, _Dean,_ I will gut both of them with your bare hands and make sure you're present enough to watch the whole thing. See, I really just need to torture something to find my bliss. You, them, it's all interchangeable. Someone is going to be on the end of my knife, and I'm kind enough to let you decide who. Do we have an understanding?"

It felt like giving up, like rolling over and dying. His father had taught him to fight with all he had and to never give up… but he was so worn and frayed already. He wasn't sure he could continue to wage war against something so powerful without knowing for certain he would gain any ground. Dean thought of Sammy, the little brother that was going to pay dearly if Dean couldn't win this war. He thought of his father, who had already lost the love of his life, how would he handle having to stop Dean from killing him and Sam? "Yes."

"Who do I get to play with then?"

Dean had never been surer of anything in his short life. "Me."

"Good. Remember, mum's the word, Dean." The darkness wrapped its heavy hands around his shoulders and whispered in his ear, "You're better off with me anyway kid. They were all going to leave you anyways."

* * *

Darkness had become Dean's friend. When the darkness settled, the demon was sated. There was an uneasy pattern to everything. The demon would have its fun, pulling Dean apart from the inside out, followed by vast periods of nothingness. Dean coveted the nothingness.

Odd pinpricks of light would often penetrate his dark cocoon, moments where the real world would slip into his consciousness. It was like being underwater, things were distorted and slow coming across as garbled. Safety and family came through like a sharp spear even if Dean couldn't comprehend the rest.

The frequency in appearance of the spots heralded the return of the demon. Still, Dean enjoyed every feeling, every emotion he could pull from them. Sam and Dad were fine and that's what mattered. He'd take the reassurance and use it to motivate him to endure.

He had the most control just before the demon started his tortures again. Never enough to force anyone into action before the demon could make good on its threats. Being able to move his hand, hell, his arm in good instances, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. The best days were when he could actually wrap his arms around Sam or Dad, feeling their warmth and life for himself.

He'd settle for the simple act of picking up a crayon, though. The ability to do something for himself was not a rush to be ignored. He started by drawing things he could hold onto, happy memories that gave him hope. Sometimes his frustration would get the better of him and images would become darker, closer to the truth. Dean looked at his handy work and realized subtlety could be his greatest weapon.

He gave his word he would never say anything to tip the demon's hand; Winchester lives hanging in the balance. He never said anything about not leaving innocent clues lying around, so subtle, the demon never noticed. Dean drew his pictures, hope renewed that he could get a message to his family. He just had to be patient and endure his living hell for as long as he could.


	14. Epilogue: Through the Bombs and Blasts, We will take it Back

John walked out of the kitchen, polishing off the last couple sips of his beer. They'd spent the last couple of days holed up at Bobby's place and after John was reasonably sure Dean was alright, he began to get a little stir crazy. To be honest, Dean was more than alright: he got his boy back completely. There were hiccups here and there; John would ask a question and Dean would remain silent, almost like he forgot he could talk. A haunted look would wash over the kid's face sometimes too, when he thought no one was paying attention. John figured it wasn't anything getting back into their old routine wouldn't cure. Dean's behaviour was actually familiar; he'd been deathly quiet and closed off after the fire too. They persevered before, they would again.

Dean was sprawled on the couch, melting down the remote. John had caught him more than once compulsively changing channels when there was no one else to demand he pick a program and leave it alone. "Hey Dean, why don't you go upstairs and tell Sam to get his things together. It' about time we headed on our way."

Interest piqued, Dean glanced at his father over the back of the couch. He loved Bobby, and had nothing but fond memories of staying at the man's house, but the cramped quarters seemed to fuel everyone's need for a heart to heart and Dean had just about had his fill. At least in a motel room, everyone was aware they were on top of one another and were mindful of people's boundaries, both physical and mental; even in the car, conversation was kept light and pointless, everyone too aware of how trapped they were until their destination. "There a job or something?"

John smiled; this was his boy, who Dean was supposed to be. "Might have a lead worth checking out. Gonna make sure the car's tuned up, figured we header tomorrow."

Dean nodded as his dad head out to the yard. A job meant something else to focus on, something for everyone else to focus on. Riding shotgun in the Impala, Dad driving, Sam in the back, because really: Sam might be a sasquatch, but big brother trumps height and his ass was going to be regulated to the back seat, there was nothing better. He bounded up the stairs two at a time. This was his opportunity to prove he was more than what he'd been. He might have failed to fight the demon but he could take this chance and prove he was the hunter his father needed him to be, that he wasn't a burden to his family.

His renewed vigor lasted until he burst through the bedroom door. His world stopped as he watched Sam already packing his bag, a sinking feeling digging its way to the bottom of his soul. His mouth went dry as his voice shrivelled into nothing.

Sam glanced up offering Dean a casual smile. It quickly vanished when he saw the look of horror on his brother's face. Concerned he asked, "Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean nodded frantically, still unable to find any words.

Sam awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. "There something you needed?"

"You... you talk to Dad?" His voice was small, childlike but it was the best he could do.

"Nooooo? He need something?"

Dean shook his head. He tried not to sound wounded, wanted there to be some explanation beside the painfully obvious. "You're packing?"

Sam looked down at his backpack. "Yeah. It's been a couple of weeks and Jess is worried. Besides, midterms are three weeks away and I have a lot of work to catch up on." He tried to sound cheery. He needed to get back to real life, to his life. It had been hard to leave the first time, this time didn't seem like it was going to be any easier.

"You're going back to school?"

"Well, yeah Dean."

It was a knife to the gut. Dean silently chastised himself for being so foolish. Of course Sam wouldn't stay, the guy had a life, one that didn't revolve around Dean. He had just stupidly thought that he might be worth sticking around for now. "Yeah, nol if you gotta go man," he mumbled, brain on autopilot.

Sam cocked an eyebrow; Dean seemed to be fading before his eyes and he wasn't sure why. "It's not forever, Dean," assured Sam. "I mean you can come out and see me, meet Jessica. Or I can come out to Cedar Rapids for a week during summer and spring breaks. And there're holidays..."

Dean flashed his "devil may care" smile, an old familiar shield to protect him from the hurt of the world. Sam wanted out of the life, choosing school was a good bye for forever. Even if he could convince Dad to swallow that pill again, how long until he wasn't welcome in Sam's life? It would start with the best intentions, visiting often, every holiday then slowly fade as hunting got in the way and Sam's life got too busy with work. Eventually Sam would settle down, wife, kids, the minivan and the goddamn white

picket fence; he wouldn't want hunting to spill into that and in turn that meant Dean would slowly lose his welcome, if he didn't lose his life to some monster first. This was the kiss of death and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know if Sam realized it or not. "Of course. When are you heading back?"

"There's a bus out of town this afternoon."

"So soon? Can't you maybe stay for dinner?" Dean didn't want to sound like a whiney child, but this afternoon was too soon. His brain hadn't come to terms with the awful truth just yet. One more dinner, one more evening to milk every precious second of family he could, that's all he wanted now.

Dean never asked for anything and while Sam had expected Dean to try and talk him out of going back to California, all he wanted was dinner. It was such a simple request and one completely within Sam's power to grant. "Okay." There was another bus leaving the day after tomorrow. He could do this for Dean, if only to wipe the look off his brother's face.

Dean gestured to the door awkwardly. "Dad's working on the car, I should go see if he needs a hand or something." He stopped at the door, his hand gripping the doorframe tight. "Thanks for staying one more day, Sammy," he added before disappearing out of sight.

* * *

John poked his head in the door. "Boys, your things better be packed, we're hitting the road." He didn't wait for acknowledgment, his command left no room for question, before stepping back out on the porch. Daylight was burning and they weren't getting anywhere vegetating on Singer's couch.

Dean got to his feet without hesitation. His backpack sat crumpled by the side of the couch. It wasn't like he really had any things, least nothing that would be any use to him now. All he really needed was a place next to his dad in the Impala and Sam fitting his ginormous ass in the backseat. He'd take the two out of three he was going to get.

"Where are we going?" asked Sam staring at the door in confusion. He didn't need to go to the bus station until tomorrow.

"The next job," answered Dean, carefully avoiding Sam's eyes.

Sam stared at his brother in shock. Not only was there hesitance in his voice, but Dean was talking about a hunt, a goddamn hunt, after everything. "Seriously?" shouted Sam, feeling bad at Dean's flinch. It was too much; hunting had already cost the family so much and now their father had plans to drag Dean back into it. Worse, did he think Sam was going to take part?

Dean looked sheepishly at Sam. It had been too much to hope that the waters would stay calm with two storm fronts lurking on the edge. "What do you expect us to do?"

"Oh gee, I don't know Dean. Maybe for him to give it a rest for awhile, perhaps forever? We just got you back, are you even up for that?" He regretted the words the second they slipped out of his mouth. Dean curled into himself at the accusation that he wasn't going to be enough, that somehow he was less than capable. "Dean, I didn't mean it like that. Just how close to the edge do we have to get before his obsession pushes us over."

Putting as much edge as he could into his voice, Dean said, "The thing that killed Mom is still out there. This isn't over."

"It's over for me," declared Sam, all fire and rage. "It should be over for you. What the hell are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, this is what we do. Hunt things, save people; it's important Sam."

"So are you, Dean. Dad's just going to keep going until there's nothing left. You sound just like him, you know."

"Like who?"

"Dad! Take a minute and think for yourself, Dean. You don't always have to do everything the man says. After everything, you owe it to yourself to think for yourself. At least think of yourself."

"It's _Dad_ , Sammy." His voice broke near the end. He'd spent his life trying to get Sam to understand. John was stubborn, and with good reason. They were a family and they needed to stick together, to keep an eye out for one another; that meant sticking together. "What else are we going to do?"

"I'm not playing his game anymore; I have a life to get back to." Sam stormed out the front door, unconcerned with the broken look on Dean's face. Someone had to stop the mighty John Winchester and if Dean wasn't going to stand up for himself, Sam would.

John looked up from the Impala's engine as the front door slammed open. "Where the hell's your stuff," he demanded as Sam stormed across the driveway to him. The irritation was clear on his face; he wasn't in the mood for whatever crap his youngest looked determined to hand out.

Sam furiously shook his head. "I'm not going with you."

"What do you mean?" John looked at Dean who had slipped out on to the porch as though he could explain what had gotten into his youngest. Dean just kept his eyes on the ground as he made his way to the Impala.

"I have a life to get back to, I'm done with hunting. I'm already behind in my classes and I have midterm at the end of the month. I'm not doing this." Sam was rigid with defiance.

He couldn't help but glare at Dean who had tossed his bag in the backseat of the car. It was like he was eight years old again; David versus goliath, the title match between Sam and John Winchester and Dean was taking their father's side. Same old, same old.

"School." John said it like a dirty word as he slammed the hood of the Impala. "You're going to back to school. Your family needs you here, Sam."

"Come on guys, stop it," pleaded Dean. It wasn't loud enough to crawl above the hissing and spitting everyone else was doing.

"No; my _family_ needs to stop chasing monsters and trying to get themselves killed. I'm just going to college, you're pushing Dean into the line of fire. Getting Dean back was a gift and you're going to spoil it. You know what, you're never going to change! I'm out of here." Sam turned on his heels and stormed down the driveway.

Dean felt a chasm begin to open in his gut. Dad was pushing Sam away and Sammy was gladly taking the opportunity. He remembered the night Sam left for Stanford with crystal clarity and here it was playing out before him again. He was just as powerless to stop it now as he was then. "Sammy, come back." Silently he added, "Please."

John warned, "If you walk out on this family, don't you come back, Sam!"

"Fine by me! I won't be party to your suicide run. I'm done," shouted Sam as he made his way towards the road. He'd hitchhike to the bus station, get back to California and pretend none of it happened. He'd wrap his arms around Jess and settle into normal. He wasn't going to standby and lose his father or worse, his brother all over again. He was escaping his father's stupid obsession and if Dean was too blind to do the same, there was nothing Sam could do. He just hoped Dean would come to his senses before it was too late.

"Don't leave, Sammy. Not like this," called Dean to his brother's retreating back. For one bright shining moment he had had it all and like everything in his life, it was fleeting.

"Enough, Dean," snapped John, misdirecting his rage to the one closest to him. Smoothing his voice he continued, "If he has more important places to be, just let him go. He's made his choice."

"Yeah, and you didn't help him at all with that," mumbled Dean under his breath.

John resumed his drill sergeant stance. Just like an officer, he was in no mood to take insubordination, no matter which of his boys was trying to get away with it. "Excuse me?"

Bobby came around the side of the house, shotgun cradled loosely in his arms. "What the hell are you idjits shouting about?

John glared in Bobby's direction. "We're just having a family disagreement is all."

Bobby looked from John to Dean who, suddenly fascinated with the door handle on the car. "Uh-huh." Dean looked properly scolded, John was about to have a coronary and Sam was nowhere in sight. "Where'd Sam go?"

"Back to California," came John's clipped response.

"And why's that?" The heat in Bobby's eyes matched his glare. The Winchester were out to set some new kind of record if they were already taking shots at each other. John refused to answer, so Bobby turned his focus onto someone he could bully into an answer.

Dean didn't want to fight; Bobby would find out anyways. "He didn't want to come on the next job."

Bobby tilted his head to the sky mumbling some prayer for inner strength or sense in John. "A hunting job? Of all the stupid things... John Winchester are you looking to get someone killed or are you just thick in the head? We just got Dean right, and now you want to drag him back out there. I oughtta..."

"I don't need you to tell me how to raise my son, Singer," John rebutted.

"Someone should, you crazy son of a bitch."

"We still have a job to do. The only thing that's changed is Dean can get back in the fight."

"Well I ain't gonna be party to that boy's death," declared Bobby. He offered Dean a sympathetic glance before he cocked the shotgun. "If I ever see you around here again, John Winchester, I will blast your ass full of buckshot, you hear me!"

"Screw you, Singer." John got in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

Dean looked helplessly between the car and Bobby. He wanted to apologise, tell everyone he'd find a way to make it alright for all of them but he just stood there. There was no happy medium between Sam and their dad and Bobby's years of tolerance only ever extend to John because of the boys. He couldn't change any of them, make any of them see that he just needed them to get along. Dean would always know where to find Bobby and he had a pretty good starting place to track down Sam but if he let his dad walk away, John would be in the wind and out of reach forever.

"Dean, get in the damn car now!"

Dean mouthed a silent goodbye to Bobby before sullenly getting in the Impala. He barely got the door closed before his dad was peeling out of the driveway.

* * *

"So I figured we head up to Caleb's cabin. Do some conditioning, target practice, shake the dust off you," said John as he pumped gas into the car.

"Sounds good."

Dean was leaning against the car on the passenger's side, back to John, but he could tell the kid was sulking; had been ever since they left Bobby's place. He knew Dean was happier with his brother around; hell, John was too. He couldn't standby and wait to hear that something got Sam, he wouldn't. If Sam insisted on going out on his own where John couldn't protect him, then Sam was on his own. At least Dean had some sense.

John wanted to believe that the boys would be safer if they gave up the life. They wouldn't be. Evil didn't hunt you down because you were prepared, it went after you because you weren't. The thing that killed Mary was still out there, out there looking for his boys. They were only safe with John. After failing so spectacularly, he owed it to Dean to keep him safe now. "We'll be alright without Sam."

"Sure," sighed Dean.

"He'll be alright. Sam's been trained well." It sounded hollow to John's own ears; he wasn't surprised Dean didn't buy it either.

"Whatever."

They'd swing by Stanford in a month, after the dust settled and check up on the kid, secretly. Just like they used to. Still, there was nothing like being trapped in the car with a sulking kid. He pulled the keys out of his pocket. "Here."

Dean turned in time to catch the Impala's keys in his hand. "What's this?"

A smile turned John's lips. He'd envisioned this moment since the day he bought the car, planned on it. Now Dean would have use for it, would give it all the love it deserved.

"She's all yours, son."

Dean stood there dumbfounded. "You're giving me the Impala?"

"I'd say you earned it."

Dean scrambled into the driver's seat before his dad had a chance to change his mind. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face if he tired.

John watched from the passenger seat, admiring the look of his son as a kid in a candy store. John never thought he'd see Dean like that again; he didn't want the moment to end.

"So, Caleb's cabin?" asked Dean joyfully as he caressed the steering wheel.

John nodded. "Get ourselves back in fighting form."

"Then we're going to hunt us some evil sons of bitches."

"That's the plan," agreed John amicably as the Impala head out to the open road.

* * *

**Two Years Later**

Sam awoke to a clang coming from down stairs. Carefully, he slipped out of bed to avoid waking Jess and whatever was moving around in the living room. He silently crept down the stairs searching for any signs of an intruder.

A figure moved through the dark and Sam waited for his moment to strike. Finding his opening he threw the first punch. The intruder wasn't going to be deterred that easily, returning the hit. They traded blows moving through the dining room into the living room. The intruder managed to keep a hold of Sam, pinning him slightly.

"Whoa, easy there tiger."

Sam knew the all too familiar voice instantly. "Dean? You scared the crap out of me!"

Dean chuckled. "That's cause you're out of practice."

Sam took Dean's moment of ease to turn the tables, pinning Dean to the ground.

"Or not," confessed Dean. "Get off of me," he added slightly more irritated.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" demanded Sam. The middle of the night was no time to try his patience, let alone play whatever stupid game his brother had gotten into his head.

"Well, I was looking for a beer..."

_And so the series begins..._

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this story and much love to those who reviewed  
> Big thanks to lil'hawkeye3 for the beta job!  
> Shout out to weemcg33 for being brave enough to be the test subject for this story's concept and format

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles from Banners Start a Riot


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